


Dirty Rotten

by snarklyboojum



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: But the ending may surprise you, M/M, Punk!Remus, Technically canon compliant through DH, not your mama's Remus Lupin, onscreen minor character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-02
Updated: 2012-09-02
Packaged: 2017-11-13 09:16:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 31,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/501897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarklyboojum/pseuds/snarklyboojum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are many reasons to lie and Remus Lupin is familiar with all of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was the first piece of fiction I'd written in about four years, so taking on something like the Snupin BLU 2009 was understandably intimidating. drusillas_rain and lore (on lj) were amazing for their last-minute beta job and prize-worthy hand holding, respectively. This was inspired in part by watching _The Filth and the Fury_ , a document on The Sex Pistols and the punk movement of the late seventies. The plotline started out as something far different than what made it to the actual page, but everything focused around a single idea: Remus Lupin was a dirty rotten liar.
> 
> Originally posted [here](http://blu.annex-files.com/viewstory.php?sid=6&warning=4).

Remus can remember the very first lie he ever told. It was simple and completely transparent – the type of lie all children indulge in at one point or another. He’d been running through the house and accidentally bumped into the living room table, knocking his mother’s favorite candy dish onto the floor. She was furious when she caught him trying to steal her wand to repair the damage, and Remus knew he was in trouble. The dish had been her mother’s, and therefore Muggle and special. 

To avoid punishment, he decided to boldly deny any involvement whatsoever. A bad man must have come into the house, he’d said, and broken the dish when no one was watching. 

His mother had sighed and began fishing the shards of porcelain from the rough weave of the carpet, gluing them together with a spell as she went. “I’m not angry with you, RJ,” she said, and Remus knew was telling the truth. She only ever called him “RJ” when she hugged him or tucked him in at night. “I’m just disappointed that you tried to hide this from me.”

The small bowl was almost complete in her hand, though a small chip remained in the rim. Remus ran his thumb over it in shame and thought of the colorful taffies kept inside spilled out over the floor. 

“Do you know why lying is bad, Remus?” He’d shaken his head, the soft pad of his thumb catching on a jagged edge. “A lie is like a little betrayal; it hurts the person being lied to. It means you don’t love them enough to trust them with the truth. That hurts me more than you breaking this dish did. And you don’t want to hurt me, do you Remus?” Terrified at the thought, he’d shook his head again, eyes wide. She’d smiled sadly, given him one of the left-over candies, and sent him outside to play.

The moment had stuck with him, and later, when he found a man standing by the back garden gate, he knew better than to lie.

“Hey, kid. Your dad home?” The man was as tall as his father, but bigger, and talked the way some of the men on the farm next door did: dropping certain sounds at the beginning of words.

“No. He went to pick mum up at work. I’m to play quietly and not talk to… strangers.” Remus realized his error when the man laughed, loud and long. His father had warned him about dangerous people wanting to hurt little boys, but Remus had forgotten. He inched carefully backwards toward the kitchen door, just in case.

“I bet! Well then, we should introduce ourselves, so we’re not strangers anymore? I’m Fenrir Greyback. And you must be Lupin’s boy. What’s your name again, son?”

“Remus. Remus John Lupin.” He held his hand up as his mother had told him to do when meeting someone new. _Manners first_ , she’d scold him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Greyback.”

His hand was dwarfed in the large dirty one, and he resisted the urge to wipe his fingers on his trousers to get them clean again. The man – Fenrir – smiled wider. _He must be a very happy person_ , Remus thought. He knew his father and that meant he wasn’t a stranger, not _really_ , so there wasn’t anything truly to be worried about, was there? 

Fenrir’s eyes gleamed. “You’re not afraid of me are you, Remus John?”

Remus took a deep breath and stood tall like he’d seen his father do. “I’m not afraid of anything. I want to be a Gryffindor, just like my da. He’s the bravest person I know.”

Fenrir hummed, leaning in close to rub his thumb over Remus’ eyebrow, pushing the bangs away from his face. “You are a bit like him, aren’t you? Have his hair and everything.” He leaned in closer, and Remus could smell his sour breath. “And such an interesting name, too. Tell me, little Remus, were you raised by wolves?”

 _I’m not afraid_ , he told himself, though he couldn’t stop the shudder from running down his spine. _I’m not afraid._

“Remus? Remus, where are you?” His father’s voice called from the kitchen. Remus heard a door slam and the heavy thud of feet running towards them but found himself unable to look away from Fenrir’s pale eyes. There was a tug on his shoulder and suddenly his father’s leg was between him and the man at the gate. Fenrir’s grin widened, slowly, as he rose to his full height.

“What the hell are you doing here, Greyback?” Remus had never heard his father sound that way before, and leaned into the back of his knee.

“Just came by to see the old homestead, John; I’ve heard so much about it, recently. Can’t blame a fella for wanting to visit _old friends_. Especially at times like these.”

“You’re not welcome here. I thought I made that perfectly clear the last time –“

“The last time you ran away from this picture-book little cottage and your perfect little family?” Fenrir leaned forward, his face inches from Remus’ father’s. “I have to admit, you have an absolutely _beautiful_ son, John. Very _accommodating_. Just like his old man. I bet you’ve got plans for him, hm? High hopes?”

His father’s hand dug painfully into his shoulder. “You leave my boy out of this, Fenrir. Stay the hell away from my family.” 

He was pulled up into his father’s arms even though he was far too big to be carried that way. As they turned to enter the house, Remus peered over his father’s shoulder at the man laughing behind them. 

“We were just talking, John, really!” Fenrir yelled. “It’s your own fault, you know, tempting fate like that. Naming your son _Remus_ – did you think I wouldn’t find you? Did you think you were _safe_?”

Remus’ mother met them at the door, holding him close and wrinkling the pressed nurse’s uniform she wore. When he finally turned around again the man had gone.

* * *

Two days later, he awoke in a hospital bed covered in bandages and the smell of old blood. It made his mouth water, like a piece of hard candy under his tongue.

Remus knew something was _different_ , that something had _changed_. He tried to ask his mum what had happened but was stunned to silence when he noticed the fresh tears on her cheeks and how tightly she clung to his hand. His father stood behind her, leaning against the wall with his face hidden in shadow.

Had he done something wrong again? He’d just gone out to see their owl Archimedes, to try and calm him down and keep his screeching from waking the neighbors. Archie had been scared, clacking his beak at the trees outside the yard and trying to fly away from his perch. Remus had turned back to the house for a treat when something hit his back hard, pushing him into the dirt. Archie kept screaming…

He felt hot tears on his cheeks, and then his mum was climbing onto the bed and pulling him into her arms. She rocked him like a baby as he cried, his neck and shoulders burning where she touched him.

“Shh, shh. It’s all right, RJ, everything’s going to be fine, you’ll see. It’ll be all right.”

But his father stayed distant in the dark and Remus knew she’d lied to him. It hurt, just like she said it would.

* * *

They tried for awhile, he and his parents, but not much was known about lycanthropy in those days, aside from it being a dangerous and infectious curse. Wizarding hospitals refused to treat him after that first attack and they didn’t dare take him to Muggle doctors, so Remus’ mother was forced to tend his wounds herself at home. Amelia Lupin was nothing if not resourceful: she cornered trauma surgeons on her ward for procedures and spells, traded shifts with anyone willing to work full moon nights, and, in desperation, stole potion supplies from the potions store cupboard at the hospital. She’d fuss over him after every transformation, the graceful curve of her wand soothing in the pre-dawn light. He was lucky, he thought, to have a nurse in the family.

Remus’ father, on the other hand, found himself incapable of accepting his son’s fate with the same unshakable composure as his wife. Though experts told them over and over that nothing could be done to lift the curse, his father still fanatically sought a cure. He would drag his family half-way around the world at the merest hint of relief, chasing every rumor or old wives tale to its origin. 

Each new attempt drove him further to desperation and farther from his family. The third time Remus transformed unexpectedly in their hotel room in Germany his father disappeared for three days after the moon only to come back with whiskey on his breath and a bruised eye. Remus’ mother packed their bags quietly and ushered them back to England, never saying a word about his absence.

Remus worried about his father, but it wasn’t until the eighth attempt at a cure – a potion from Japan that emptied their bank account and left Remus unconscious for three days – that he realized how bad things truly were. He awoke groggy and sore to find his mother crying alone in the kitchen and a note from his father on the bedside table. _I’m so sorry, RJ,_ he’d written. _This curse is my burden, not yours. Everything’s my fault. Please believe that I love you and your mother very much and never wanted any harm to come to you. Forgive me._

He vanished into the night while Remus lay sleeping, and he never saw his father again. 

Amelia moved them away from the Lupin country house and closer to her roots, renting a small flat outside of central London and getting a job working nights at St Mungo’s. His lycanthropy simply became an accepted fact, something to endure like the leaky bathroom sink or the tulips his mum tried in vain to plant every spring. Strangers never saw his bite mark and his mother knew better than to mention it, so he found himself completely unprepared for meeting the other ten year-olds on his first night in Gryffindor Tower. 

They were all quiet, putting on a brave face so far from home. Remus had unpacked quickly and went to change into his nightshirt when a whistle from the next bed over stopped him cold. The blonde boy there – Pettigrew, the deputy headmistress had called him – was staring wide-eyed at Remus’ shoulders.

It occurred to him then, that dormitory life could be a very bad thing. He’d been practicing what to say when asked about his disappearances and odd bruises all week, but the excuses and lies flew out of his mind at the odd look of wonder on the other boy’s face. 

Silence fell over the room and Remus knew the other two boys were staring, too. He rubbed at the back of his neck, worrying the ridges of scar tissue where the wolf had sunk his teeth in deep. 

“It’s - They’re scars. Just scars.” _Be brave_ , he told himself. _You wanted to be a Gryffindor, so act like one._ He tilted his head back, meeting his roommates’ eyes. “A werewolf attacked me when I was six. His claws caught me on the shoulder.”

Peter gasped and shrunk against his pillow, chin quivering. Remus’ knees threatened to buckle just before laughter rang out across the room. “Werewolf? Hah! He’s a card, this one. If he was attacked by a werewolf he’d be dead, wouldn’t he? No one survives that.” The boy who’d been polishing his glasses on his robe grinned and pulled the leg of his pajamas up. “Now _this_ is a scar!” And it was: a think line curving the length of his knee, livid and pink. “Got this playing quidditch last fall. Nearly tore my whole leg off. Wicked, isn’t it?” 

The third boy threw a sock at his head, knocking the glasses right off. “Not so wicked as your face!” He had a posh accent and very fine silk pajamas; everything about the boy screamed _pureblood_ , except for his smile. It made Remus want to relax and join in the fun.

Peter eventually came out from behind his pillow and everyone went to bed a little more excited for the day ahead, Remus’ scars eclipsed by the excitement of the Sorting and the beginning of term.

* * *

After that first night it became something of a game, thinking up different excuses for each scrape or night away. A rampaging crocodile in the History of Magic classroom. Attacking ninjas on the fourth floor. Mrs. Norris mistaking him for Sirius and pouncing preemptively. _Filch_ thinking he was Sirius and pouncing preemptively.

To his astonishment he discovered that the more extravagant the excuse, the more dull people assumed the truth. It was generally believed that he was just very clumsy, bruising himself by walking into the ubiquitous wall sconce or tripping down the stairs.

His own roommates weren’t immune to this line of thought, either. As luck would have it, he had been placed with the largest concentration of purebloods outside of Slytherin in his entire year. Sirius and James had never even _met_ a half-blood before the train, let alone spent any time with one. They assumed any deficiency in Remus’ health was because of his mixed heritage and gave it very little consideration overall. After three lunar cycles, Sirius assumed – correctly - that Remus was a sickly child prone to infections and chest colds, due to a “weakness in the blood”. Remus let it slide, and blamed his hoarse throat on howling with the jabberwocks in the Forbidden Forest all night.

After a few months of stories, he began to get something of a reputation for taking the piss. It opened him up to all manner of teasing from the other students but Remus didn’t mind: he’d rather be Loony Lupin than hated for something he had no control over. For the first time in his life he had friends, and that was all that mattered.

By the time the other Marauders actually paid enough attention in astronomy to notice the full moons, two whole years had passed. “He’s not _loony_ , he’s _moony_ ,” Sirius whispered in awe, and for a brief, wonderful moment in time everything was magical.

* * *

The Defense OWL may have been deceptively simple that year but there were still two more tests before the full moon and Remus wanted to be very sure he did well. It was practically impossible to study in the dorm with Sirius hovering nearby and James setting fire to anything that looked half-way interesting, so he headed to the library. Unfortunately, it seemed that others shared his sentiment – a flock of Ravenclaws bent protectively over all the desks. He was elated to finally find a table near the restricted section with only one other occupant…until he recognized the hunched shoulders and beaky nose.

Severus Snape. No wonder the table was empty.

Remus watched him read for a moment, weighing his options. Proximity with the most disagreeable being in the entire castle or Padfoot chewing on his homework? There wasn’t a choice, really.

“Hullo, Severus,” he said, marching toward the desk determinedly. The other boy looked up, startled, and Remus had to stifle a grin at the ink that rubbed off onto the tip of his nose. _Keep it polite. Smile._ “I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind me sharing your table. All the others seem to have budded Ravenclaws - I think the whole aerie must be empty at this point.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed.

“James and Sirius are still in the common room, last I checked. They won’t follow me here.” Remus schooled his expression to be as sincere as possible. “Please, Severus? I promise not to make a fuss.”

Snape stared at him just long enough for Remus to feel like a fool for trying, then nodded jerkily. Remus nearly upset Severus’ inkwell in his hurry to drop his heavy bag on the table before the other boy could change his mind. Settling himself across from Severus, the two hunkered down for a long study session.

It was…odd, sitting with Severus. The silence was comfortable, which was a surprise in and of itself. Remus was very aware of Snape being so close – every shift, sigh, and scratch drew his attention and to his shame he found himself staring. Severus wasn’t all _that_ bad looking, he supposed. The nose was large, but taken in context he supposed his features matched each other quite well. 

His eyes traveled down the limp hair to shoulders hunched inward to bring Snape’s face closer to the book, creating a little cave of privacy. It was then he noticed something odd about the book in front of Severus, and felt a bibliophile’s true horror drop his jaw.

“Severus! What the hell have you done? You can’t _write_ in a _book_!”

Snape drew up, startled into defensiveness. “It’s my book; I’ll do what I want with it. What business is it of yours?”

“Yes, but… Snape… it’s a _book_.”

Snape sneered at the expression of horror on Remus’ face. “It really does bother you, doesn’t it?” He snorted and leaned closer, speaking as if to a very dull first year. “These are my potion notes, Lupin. That idiot Slughorn doesn’t know shit from scales. I find it easier to have proper instructions available during brewing.”

“But… If Slughorn’s such crap then why are you studying from his textbook in the first place? I seem to recall you doing well in lab.”

Snape frowned. “If it’s in the book, it’s on the test. And I refuse to get anything less than an O from that bastard.” Remus wasn’t really surprised at Snape’s vehemence – they’d shared a potions class with the Slytherins for only one year, but Snape butted heads with the fat man almost every lab.

He summoned up his best _cheeky bastard_ grin. “Not a member of the infamous Slug Club, then?”

“You couldn’t _pay me_ to join. With very few exceptions the whole lot are bourgeois snobs with their heads stuck up their arses.”

Remus’ grin spread wider as the Ravenclaw one table over turned to glare at them. He leaned over to tap Snape’s book with his quill. “Still, I wouldn’t let Pince see you with that. She’ll use your guts to rebind the poor thing.”

“I’m not afraid of a _librarian_ , Lupin.” All the same, he pulled the book closer and glanced quickly at the shelves around them, as if searching for the glint of her square spectacles.

Remus chuckled and turned back to his own notes. Silence fell upon them again, though filled with an odd tension. His leg was jittering under the table when Snape finally looked up from his text.

“What are you reading over there, anyway? I didn’t think any of you golden Gryffindors had to study to get good marks.”

 _Good Lord, is it possible for him to be any more irritating?_ “Oh, uh, it’s transfiguration. I do all right in it, actually, it’s just the theory that bothers me.” He shifted in his seat, uncomfortable now that Snape was looking directly at him again.

“Bothers you? McGonagall must love that.”

“It’s just…” Remus had been thinking this over for awhile now and felt a little guilty he hadn’t brought it up to his friends before he talked about it with _Snape_ of all people. Still, he leaned in close, whispering. “Doesn’t it ever bother you, turning teapots into chickens and vice versa? We’re taught that if the spell is sound then that teapot is a chicken; it has chicken thoughts, chicken feelings, chicken wants. It could live as a chicken quite happily for years and then suddenly _wham finite_ one lump or two? The reverse argument is even more disturbing; take a living thing and transform it from one state to another. How much of the original state remains? Is it the same creature all through the process, just in a different form? How horrendous to suddenly be rendered inanimate, unable to impact or experience your surroundings. Wouldn’t you consider that torturous? And yet, we do it every day.”

“Now you’re arguing about quality of life. Does a chicken have a soul and experience life the way we do?”

“The chicken is metaphorical, Severus. But see, that’s the problem with wizarding thinking: I’m able to enforce my will on nature; therefore I must be superior to nature. It doesn’t matter if it’s a manticore or a Muggle; they’re all treated as lesser beings. You mentioned McGonagall earlier – she gleefully teaches ten year-olds to change rats into coffee mugs for a living. She’s taught every manner of transfiguration over the years with one exception: have you ever, in all your time here, turned anything into a cat? It’s _hypocrisy_. The whole culture’s full of it. If there’s even a slim chance that something might be more than our tiny society deems it worth then we back away with our fingers in our ears and waving laws and bills to shut it up–“

The Ravenclaw shushed them loudly, and Remus realized how out of breath he’d become. He must have been rambling, the moon in his blood running away with his mouth. His cheeks burned at the knowledge that Severus had witnessed his outburst. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to say all that. It’s just…watching something change so severely… it bothers me.”

Severus was staring at him intently, an odd gleam in his eye. “Nothing is ever still, Lupin; change is the natural state of being. There are no black-and-whites, no Dark or Light. It’s merely one’s perspective that changes.”

“And what happens when no one shares your perspective?”

“If the sky is green and you argue it’s blue? Unless you’re very good at convincing them otherwise they’ll lock you up for it.” He took a deep breath through his nose and straightened in his chair. Remus was eerily reminded of Professor Dumbledore before a lecture. “You’re not wrong to question these things, Lupin. I’ve often thought this administration made an overwhelming mistake in removing Philosophy of Magic from the curriculum. A good debate over the ethics and core of magic would do this student body wonders.”

“The ‘core of magic’. We’re back to that chicken, again.” Remus rubbed at the back of his neck - the high uniform collars often irritated the scar tissue. “Severus, do you believe in the soul?”

Snape shrugged but finally dropped his gaze, fiddling with the edges of his inky book. “There are some ancient texts that discuss bartering pieces of the soul for magical gain, or tying certain secrets into the core of a wizard. If these spells are possible then yes, I believe in the soul.”

“But all those things are tied into the use of magic; by your argument what makes you a wizard makes you a soul. What about everyone else, Severus? What about Muggles or Squibs? Are they born soulless? Is a man under a curse still a man?” And that was the heart of it – that was the thought that kept him awake at night, terrified of the moon hanging heavy in the clouds above.

Severus was staring at him again. “Mudbloods have their faith for a reason, Remus. Perhaps you should, too.”

Remus’ breath caught in a bitter laugh and he covered his face with his hands. Snape’s words echoed in his ears, weighing down his whole body. “ _Mudbloods_. I’m sorry, Severus. For a moment I forgot who I was speaking to.”

Severus blinked twice, rapidly, and Remus thought he saw the dark eyes blur suspiciously before the curtain of lank hair once again covered the other boy’s face. Candle light, he knew, could be very deceptive about these things.

Heavy silence fell over the library for a time, the scratch of distant quills echoing off the stone. Remus stared at the bowed head until Severus leaned across the table to flick the strap of Remus’ book bag with one long finger.

“Perhaps we should change our perspectives, then, and you should study something else. You look as though transfiguration has done you in.”

Remus mustered a smile from somewhere, though he suspected his eyes remained bleak. “I believe you’re right, Severus. I do have the arithmancy OWL tomorrow. Perhaps I’ll work on that a bit.”

They buried themselves silently in work for the rest of the night, neither willing to interrupt the strange truce they’d happened upon. He could feel the moon climbing higher in the sky - so close to full - and before long Remus’ head was pounding and the numbers wouldn’t stay still on the page. He knew he should call it a night and return to the Tower but found himself strangely reluctant to leave.

A loud _bang_ woke him later to discover that his head had fallen on top of his notes – which were now stuck to his cheek in an undignified smear. He yanked it off to find Sirius hovering above him, hand gripping his shoulder fiercely. 

“Come on, Moony. It’s time to go.”

Remus knew better than to protest the interruption to his nap, and began to gather his things back into his bag. Rubbing at the ink on his cheek, it was only when he turned to go that he noticed the other tables were empty, save for an abandoned potions textbook. Turning to Sirius, he asked, “Where’s Snape gone?”

“To hell, if we’re lucky.” At his arch expression, Sirius sighed and pulled the heavy bag from Remus’ shoulder, adjusting it to fit on his own. “Merlin, you really can sleep through anything. Look, don’t worry about that greasy git, all right? He won’t be bothering you anymore.”

Too groggy to protest, Remus let Sirius lead him through the halls and back to the dormitory.

* * *

Shouting woke him two mornings later, after the full moon had had her way with him. It was hard to focus on anything beyond his nose so he let himself drift for awhile, bursts of sound washing over him. The few words slipping through the fog made him cringe – he heard _beast_ , and _never_ , and once, frighteningly, _killed me_. It was getting harder to breathe, and Remus was suddenly terribly certain that he had attacked someone in the shack the night before. He could taste blood in his mouth and his hands were on fire. The white haze around his body pressed closer, and Remus realized it was really ghosts clinging to the side of his bed, reaching out to hurt him for what he’d done. He cried out when soft hands touched his arms - the ghosts were holding him still, and he’d never been so afraid before.

One of the ghosts pulled away with the screech of metal rings, and Remus could just make out dark figures lurking behind it. He reached out, begging the figures to stop the ghosts from hurting him, to tell them he was sorry. A woman’s voice broke through the din, and it reminded him of his mother – determined and tearful, holding his hand in the hospital. Remus sobbed and moved toward her blindly. 

“For pity’s sake, will you get them out of here, Albus? The boy is dying and delirious and they are _not_ helping! Send Minerva to mind them and get back over here to help me. And have her bring Fawkes, I don’t care if the damn bird’s awake or not.”

The white ghosts enclosed him again, but he didn’t mind them so much anymore. His mother was there, and she always made the pain stop for a little while. She wiped the tears from his cheeks and pressed her wand to his forehead. “That’s right, Remus, it’s all right. You rest now. Mum’s here. You just rest.”

The next time he regained consciousness his body felt blurry round the edges and he knew he was in the hospital wing, doped to the gills again. Altogether not an unpleasant notion, he supposed, if not for the circumstances that brought him there. It had been a long time since his injuries merited that level of medication – had the Marauder’s not been able to run with him last night?

He closed his eyes and began the process of self-evaluating, moving each part of his body just enough to gauge its reaction. His bones and joints were sore, but distantly felt thanks to the potions - more or less normal for this time of the month. Of much more concern were the residual aches in his left leg and the tingling numbness below his wrists. _Never a good sign._ Slowly, very slowly, he raised his head just enough to glimpse where his hands lay resting on his chest. He was mildly alarmed to find that he couldn’t see his fingers at all: his arms ended in mounds of soft cotton gauze reeking of murtlap instead. _Broken or missing then. Damn._

He sank back into the pillows and waited for someone to notice he was awake. Someone always came to check on him during mornings like this. It was odd that Sirius or James weren’t hovering close by, as a matter of fact. He kept himself busy by feeling out the contours of a newly chipped tooth with his tongue. Would it make his smile look crooked?

Assistance eventually arrived, though Remus was surprised to discover it came not in the familiar bustle of Madam Pomfrey but in the form of Albus Dumbledore himself, sporting a rather subdued purple and brown robe. He ducked under the white bed curtain and paused, startled to find Remus staring back. Sinking into the chair alongside the bed, the old man rested a careful hand on Remus’ shoulder. He could barely feel its weight through the gauze.

“Remus, my boy, are you back with us? Do you know who I am?”

Remus tried to answer but his voice cracked halfway through into a hoarse cough. Dumbledore held a small cup to his lips, and the minty potion swept down his throat like balm in the desert, cooling burnt places. Severus may hate the man, but Remus never had any problem with Slughorn’s medicinal brewing.

 _Severus._ There had been something lurking in the back of his mind since he woke up, a suspicious sense that something was _wrong_ , and that it had something to do with Severus. Vague memories of screaming and dark hair fluttered through his mind.

Dumbledore sighed and leaned back in his chair, taking the rest of the potion with him. “I’m not sure you’re at all well enough to hear this yet, but I believe you deserve to know what happened. Madame Pomfrey will most likely remove me bodily from here within the next few moments, so I will begin with the basics: It is June sixth, 1976. You passed all of your OWLS with ease, though you seemed to have struggled with transfiguration, an oddity I find hard to understand given your circumstances. You have been unconscious for three days, and traveled very far away from us in that time.”

Awestruck, Remus tried to lean up on his elbows only to hiss at the pain that burned its way through the fog of his brain. _Three days?_ To feel so rotten so long after the moon…

His voice was very hoarse, and just this side of audible. “How bad was it?” _And where the hell were his friends?_

“Bad, Mister Lupin. We very nearly lost you. And now I must ask: how long have your friends known you are a werewolf?”

His head turned so fast he could hear the vertebrae pop. Dumbledore’s blue eyes had gone over icy, and Remus found it difficult to look away. 

“That long, hmm? I assume they are the only ones. You are sure they’ve told no one else?”

He nods his head jerkily. His friends weren’t there and _Dumbledore knew, oh god, what had he done to them?_

“Easy, Mister Lupin. It’s not as bad as all that. No one was seriously injured, save yourself. Kindly consider breathing again.” The old man pressed the glass against his lips again, and Remus gulped down the rest of the potion greedily. “I can only relate to you the facts as they have been presented to me – your friends will need to explain the reasons behind their actions themselves. Apparently during an altercation in the library several days ago Sirius Black informed Severus Snape how to enter the Shrieking Shack on the night of the full moon…”

As Dumbledore tells him how close he came to becoming a murderer, his mother’s voice floats to the surface of his mind from some deep hidden memory. _A lie is like a little betrayal._ Sometimes the truth, when revealed to the wrong person, could betray just as easily as a lie.

“Mister Potter was able to place a locking spell on the door between you and Mister Snape until help could arrive the next morning. We believe the wolf was driven mad by the denial of its chosen prey, causing it to turn on itself. The damage to your body was severe, and port-keying you from the Shack to the infirmary caused more harm than good, I’m afraid. Not placing appropriate facilities nearby your transformation site is an error I greatly apologize for making, and one I shall personally remedy before the next school term.”

Remus felt as if he were covered in quicksand – everything was dragging him down. It took a few minutes for what Dumbledore had said to sink in. “Next term? You mean I’m not expelled, even after all this?” 

“Of course not. Mister Snape has agreed to speak of this to no one. Your situation has yet again been contained, at least for the moment.” Remus hated that word: contained. It always made him think of bars slamming shut. “Misters Potter, Black, and Pettigrew are a different matter entirely. One would hope the severity of your curse was made evident to them prior to this incident, though I am deeply disappointed in their careless treatment of an extremely Dark Creature.”

Pain was slowly creeping up his arms, and Remus focused on that instead of the implication behind Dumbledore’s words. He cleared his throat and tried to speak again. “Are… You’re acting like it’s my fault. I can’t control-”

“I am not suggesting this was your fault, Mister Lupin. But when all is said and done, you are the one responsible for the safety of your loved ones-“

“Snape isn’t a loved one.” 

Dumbledore flinched at his tone of voice. Remus had never seen him so visibly shaken before. “All the same. You will not be at Hogwarts forever, Mister Lupin. This is _your_ affliction. You must learn to defend yourself and others, no matter the cost.”

“I have been _afflicted_ since I was six years old, sir. As I understand it the entire reason I was invited to Hogwarts was so that I _could_ be taught to defend myself. If I am unable to do so now, whose fault is that?” Color rose in Dumbledore’s cheeks and Remus knew he should apologize for speaking so out of turn to the Headmaster, but couldn’t be bothered to go through the motions of contrition.

He’d been sleeping for three days, but still felt monumentally tired. “I know what you’re trying to say, Professor. I’ll talk to Sirius myself. I think I’d like to sleep now, if you’ll excuse me. Please tell Madame Pomfrey I’ll need another potion soon.”

Remus closed his eyes and focused on breathing through the pain in his limbs. He didn’t have the energy to be angry right now, though he wanted to be - it was all so incredibly unfair. It was unfair of Dumbledore to punish him for this, unfair of Sirius to turn him into some awful storybook villain.

No, he didn’t have the energy to be angry just then. He’d have a nap first and try again later.

* * *

Pomfrey released him two days later under strict orders to go directly to Gryffindor Tower, pack his things, have a good lie-down, then catch the train home with the others. The sling, she said, would stay on for at least another week and he was to be very careful not to overextend his leg – there would most likely always be an ache there, especially when the moon waned or the weather changed, but he should avoid walking with a limp. She prescribed several potions that she’d sent ahead to his mother in London and instructed him on the exercises he should perform to regain mobility in his hands. He’d managed to break all his fingers clawing through the door at Severus, and had proceeded to actually chew off three. She’d done her best to repair the damage, but the new muscles were stiff and slow. It might take him all summer to hold a wand properly, she cautioned, and using a quill would be even trickier.

“Thank you,” he’d said, and insisted on making the long walk to the dormitory by himself. 

He used the free time to practice making a fist.

The common room was awash in the expected chaos of students saying goodbye or searching desperately for some lost item or other. When Remus paused against the portrait hole to regain his breath he watched their eyes flicker toward him and away again. _That’s right,_ he thought. _Just another prank gone wrong. Loony’s stepped in it again._ He wondered how they’d respond if they knew the truth. If the pity in their eyes would change to horror, or if they’d run from the room screaming. He knew if it weren’t for James, he would have found out.

The stairs nearly killed him, but he managed to make it to their room in one piece. Inside, Peter was helping James pack while Sirius – who avoided the horrors of packing by never _un_ packing in the first place – lay indolently against his headboard. They all jumped up to catch him before his knee gave out, though James’ Seeker reflexes won out. He held Remus long enough for his legs to steady while Sirius hovered nearby, chewing on his bottom lip.

“Thank you, I feel better now,” he said, and slammed his fist into that concerned bow mouth. Sirius crumbled to the floor like a piece of used tissue.

Remus’ voice was hoarse when he shouted, cracking at places it hadn’t in years, but it felt far too good to stop. “What the _hell_ is wrong with you, Black? Do you think this is a _game_? Do you think this is just some prank we pull once a month to take the piss?”

Peter squeaked and changed into Wormtail at Remus’ outburst, hiding under a pile of dirty socks on the floor. Remus kicked at them only to cry out when his leg protested. James caught his arms again, eyes wide behind his glasses. “Moony calm down –“

“ _Don’t call me that._ I never want to hear that name again. I am not a pet. Not a _toy_. Not an excuse to blow off homework and go play.” He focused on Sirius, laying still on the floor. “I am not a weapon you can use to hurt Severus Snape.”

“He was touching your hair!” Sirius screamed. Peter squeaked again but Remus was shocked into silence when Sirius climbed to his feet. He stared directly into Remus’ eyes, chin held high. Remus leaned heavily against James and watched as Sirius licked away a small drop of blood from his lip before it could ooze onto his pale chin. 

“He was touching your hair. Like this.” Sirius reached behind his own neck to caress the long locks gathered at the nape. “You were asleep at the table and didn’t notice. He just… He could see your scars, Moony. He was looking right at them! I couldn’t… I can’t stand the thought of his greasy hands on you like that. It’s not right. You’re not his to…” Sirius clamped his jaws together with an audible click.

Remus tried to be strong, but his voice escaped as a whisper instead. “I’m not his to _what_? Come on, Sirius. If I’m not his, then whose am I?”

“I didn’t mean it like that. I just… I got so angry I wasn’t thinking. I wanted Snape to stay away from you, to stop trying to figure things out, so I thought if he saw you in the Shack he’d get an eyeful enough to last him all summer. The big baby’d wet himself and leave you alone for good. It was meant to be a prank, right?” He tried smiling charmingly but winced at the pull on his lip.

James tightened his grip on Remus’ trembling shoulders, the only thing keeping him upright. “I can’t believe it. Dumbledore was right,” Remus whispered. “I never should have trusted you with this. You don’t even have enough respect for me to respect the wolf.”

“No, Moony. I respect you, I do.” Sirius hastily dropped to his knees in front of Remus, eyes large and begging. “I never meant to hurt you like this, I swear. I won’t do it again. Look… Since my parents… you, James, and Peter, you’re the only family I’ve got. Please, Moony, I’m sorry.”

James cleared his throat, and shifted his weight away. “I believe him, Remus,” he said huskily. “Sirius was just being an arrogant berk like always. Don’t break up the Marauders over something like this.”

Remus swayed on his feet, thinking about all those nights under the full moon and the boys who changed their lives to run with him during it. He thought of how easy it would be for one of them to expose his secret again, and how hard the transformations were without their help. _It was just so unfair…_

Slowly he reached out, resting his hand on the top of Sirius’ head, right over the spot where he liked to be scratched when he was a dog.

“All right, Padfoot. I forgive you.”

* * *

He saw Severus once more that year, on the train ride back to Nine and Three-Quarters. Desperately tired, he’d slowly worked his way down the corridor until he glanced into a car and saw the boy – man now, he supposed - sitting with some other Slytherins. Severus held his body stiffly against the rocking of the tracks, and Remus realized he’d never asked if Snape had been injured during the attack. He reached to pull the door open, but a passing light flickered through the window and illuminated his face to the passengers within. The other students just sneered, but Severus glared at him with such fierce hatred that Remus could feel it like a slap to the face. He stumbled, reaching out blindly…and was caught in the arms of Sirius Black, who’d been trailing behind him silently. Remus allowed himself to be half-carried to the Marauders’ rail car, soaking in the warmth of his friend.

Behind him, Severus tightened his cloak around his shoulders and let his hair fall over his face. He rubbed absently at his chest, worrying the new scratch of scar tissue there.


	2. Chapter 2

The summer of ’76 was long and terribly hot; it seemed like Hogwarts was a world away from London, which, Remus supposed, it was. He liked the energy of the city, liked how it was never quiet, even in the dead of night. It was often hard for him to sleep at night, the moon tugging at his body and making it impossible to slow down enough to rest. At Hogwarts he got all his best work done at night, while everyone else was asleep. Still, there were times when the castle seemed so empty he could hardly bear it; there was almost an expectant stillness creeping from the stones. London had its own atmosphere, its own dynamic of old and new structures. Like they said, if you’re tired of London, you’re tired of life.

Remus had yet to tire of life, but he was certainly exhausted with disco. He hated everything about it – the music, the lights, the glitter. Though the clubs seemed to have popped up on every street corner in the months he was at school, he preferred the nameless pubs filled with angry, dirty boys, flaunting their creatively torn rags and safety-pinned tongues. Where there was more smoke than oxygen and people smiled when you called them a cunt. He could go without a shirt in places like that, and have pretty girls buy him drinks and compliment his scars. The bands weren’t always good, but God neither was he, and it all felt so _fantastic._

To Remus, disco was dead. And the other Marauders were desperate to attend the funeral.

The boys arrived a few weeks into summer break to “help Remus with his wandwork” after the moon…and to sneak around the clubs in Soho, of course. They were underage by Muggle standards, but there was very little a few strategically placed charms couldn’t do and they all managed to pass once Remus shared out his closet of Muggle wear. Once Remus was well enough to hobble about on his own he joined them, and one pub crawl led to another until, inevitably, they found themselves inside the sparkly world of a disco. Sirius and James were immediately enthralled by the disco balls – Remus suspected it was the pureblood attraction to shiny objects – and Peter was lost the first time a girl in platforms and lip gloss winked in his direction.

The Bay City Rollers boomed through the speakers, and Remus suspected he might be in hell. Surely Dante neglected to mention the Electric Slide punishment?

In hindsight, the first mistake they made was splitting up. It may have been their last night together in the city, but ‘divide and conquer’ had been a lesson learned early. James and Peter had wandered over to a table of smiling blondes in very tight trousers while Remus made a beeline to the bar, hoping hard liquor would make everything more palatable. Sirius… 

Sirius had disappeared into the bathroom only to show up twenty minutes later and entwine his arms around Remus’ waist from behind. He twirled Remus out to the dance floor, arms raised and blissed-out happiness gleaming from his dilated eyes. Remus gulped down his drink and tried to hold on.

The air was thick with smoke and musk on the dance floor, young bodies grinding close together. The sparkly blue-white light did strange things to Sirius’ pale body; his smooth skin glistened, jeans falling dangerously low on his hips. Sirius grinned wildly as he moved, fierce and free to the beat. 

Without thinking, Remus leaned in and pressed his lips to those sharp white teeth, wanting nothing more in the world than to have some of that freedom for himself. He hauled Sirius closer, hands on his cheeks and fingers in his hair. Sirius _moaned_ , undulating his hips flush against Remus’. 

For a first kiss, Remus was rather impressed with himself.

Sirius pulled away, grinning. He shouted over the noise. “Moony! I’m not nearly drunk enough for that yet!”

Remus moved against him, swaying in closer. “I guess I am. Drunk enough, that is.” He couldn’t stop touching Sirius, stroking the strip of skin between jeans and hip, the hard curve of his clavicle. The beat of the song was pounding into his head and the other dancers bumped into them. Sirius rode it like a buoy in a storm, but Remus felt like he was drowning. “Come on, Sirius. Let’s get out of here.”

“We just got here.” Sirius captured Remus’ mouth one more time, nipping at his lower lip. 

Remus pulled on his hips, shifting toward the edge of the dance floor and the cool darkness outside. “Please, Sirius. Take me somewhere else. Just… take me…”

Sirius leaned in close, nuzzling into Remus’ neck. He could feel teeth on his ear, and the soft lips he’d been kissing moments ago. The heat from the club was starting to make him feel faint, and he anchored himself by holding tightly onto Sirius’ shoulders.

_“Slut.”_

Remus jerked back, stumbling into the couple behind them and knocking their drinks over. They shoved him back toward Sirius, who was grinning wildly again. 

“You little bitch, leading me on like that!” He punched Remus in the arm, laughing. “Honestly, Moony, messing about with a bloke’s head on a night like this, it’s hilarious.”

“What? I don’t – I don’t understand.”

Sirius yelled louder over a swell in the music. “You win, Moony, you got me! Merlin, wait ‘til we tell James about this; he’s been trying to prank me ever since we got to your flat last week.” 

“Prank?” Remus’ belly sunk, eyes watering from the smoke. He needed to sit down. “Right, sure. Just a prank. Look, I don’t feel well; I’m going to go home. Can you find your way back on the tube from here?”

But Sirius had already turned to the girl dancing next to him, hands straying to her hips. The light caught on his swollen, wet lips, the taste of them coating Remus’ mouth like ash.

* * *

Hangover remedies were dutifully administered by Mrs. Lupin the next morning along with a firm slap to the back of the head, “just to test the effectiveness of the potion, dears”. The boys packed their bags and flooed away to the rest of their summer adventure. Remus didn’t see them off, choosing to practice charms in the cellar, instead – he’d found it much easier to manipulate the intensity of his spells non-verbally since the Shack, and was working hard to make them come out perfectly. He couldn’t afford to fall behind once school began again.

That night, with the waxing moon thrumming in his veins and his mum asleep in the master bedroom, he caught the Knight Bus to the closest punk club and danced ‘til dawn, listening to band after band after band. One particular singer – a young man with bright blonde hair and terrible teeth – stayed after his gig to chat up the audience. He laughed when Remus introduced himself as John, and the two talked for hours about music and morals, philosophy and politics. Remus had followed the Pistols all summer, and drinking with Johnny Rotten was truly…eye-opening.

The night after that, Remus decided he’d had enough and set about shredding every article of clothing he owned. (It wasn’t hard, seeing how most of it was already frayed, patched, or threadbare.) A sneer looked wrong on his face when he practiced it in the mirror, so he pushed all his frustration and anger into the set of his shoulders and went out on the prowl. He visited six clubs, started four fights, kissed two boys, and got his first blowjob from a girl with a pin through her lip. For the first time the cuts and bruises were there because he wanted them to be, and he wore them with pride.

* * *

When Remus arrived at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters that fall with pierced ears, a jumper held together by safety pins, and the tattiest, tightest jeans anyone had ever seen… well, not even the shocking news of James Potter’s promotion to Head Boy could have overcome the gossip.

He’d designed himself to stick out, to give the finger to anyone who thought they were better than him because their blood was purer or their bank account fuller. As the crowd turned to stare, Remus kept his shoulders square and eyes straight ahead. _I’m not afraid of you_ , he told himself, and glared at anyone who called him ‘Loony’.

Having walked the gauntlet of the platform, he hoped his mates would appreciate the change – after all, what were the Marauders but punks in school ties? But when he reached their train car the reaction was distinctly disappointing.

The treat cart must have already been by – a box of Bertie Bott’s Beans was poured over the seat. Peter choked on one when Remus wandered in and flinched when he reached over to pound him on the back. James’ candy fell right out of his mouth as his chin dangled in the vicinity of his knees, the very definition of the term ‘gobsmacked’. 

Sirius, who’d been preening in his new – and expensive – leather jacket complete with studs and fashionable patches, nearly swallowed his own tongue. When Remus collapsed on the bench next to him their thighs brushed. Sirius jerked away with a gasp, as if Remus were a contagious monster.

As luck would have it, he _was_ contagious. Strange how metal and rags were enough to alienate his friends when being a dangerous Dark Curse was not. Remus laughed it off and stole a handful of Peter’s beans, chewing too fast to taste anything aside from a hint of pomegranate and menthol.

James’ jaw was working as it dangled, but Peter recovered enough to speak first. “Moony… Wh-what have you done to your head?!”

“Shaved it. Congratulation, Prongs. Head Boy, my word. Whatever shall we do with you now?”

James gurgled. Remus helpfully tapped his chin up, closing his mouth for him. He sputtered and dropped his glasses. “Merlin’s mighty nutsack, Remus, what did you do to your _ears_?”

“Pierced them. Hello, Sirius, sitting way over there. I like your jacket. Did you get that on King’s Row? I thought I saw something like it in a shop before I left. Couldn’t afford it, of course, but –“

“Forget the sodding jacket, Remus!” Sirius shouted from the depths of his seat. “What the hell are you doing exposing yourself like this? People _saw you_ walking around that way-“

“Exposing myself? Whatever are you talking about?”

“Your _hair_! What if, what if someone sees your scars, huh? Your bloody _bite mark_ is showing plain as the nose on Snape’s face! What the hell is wrong with you? Aren’t you worried people will see your scars and figure things out?”

 _You, of all people, have no right to ask me that._ “No, I’m not. If people want to look, let them look. I’m tired of hiding who I am, Sirius. Besides, I highly doubt anyone will pay close enough attention to me to figure out I’m a werewolf; I’m still just a bookish Prefect after all. I’m sure you and James will cause enough commotion to overshadow a stupid haircut by the end of the week.”

“You’re not ‘just’ anything, Remus! I mean, _look_ at yourself, for Merlin’s sake. How can anyone ignore _that_?”

“Is that your problem, Sirius: that you _can’t_ ignore me? What else can’t you ignore, I wonder?” He spread his legs a little wider and adjusted his jeans, getting more comfortable on the seat.

“Bastard!” Sirius’ face was turning bright red, an ugly color against the gray of his eyes.

James was fidgeting, glancing quickly back and forth between them. “Okay, Sirius, that’s enough--”

“No, James! This is ridiculous. He expects us to keep our mouths shut about his secrets but then flaunts them for the world to see? Who the _fuck_ does he think—“

_“Sirius.”_

It was a tone they’d never heard from Remus before, something he’d been practicing on with the punks in the clubs and the thugs on the street looking to rough him up after a show. It was deep, commanding, and called for utter attention. 

Sirius’ eyes went glossy and his mouth hung open.

Remus’ voice was hoarse, but had no trouble carrying through the sudden silence. “I’ve known you were an egotistical bastard for years, but I looked past that because I knew you were trying to change. Do you want me to stop looking now?” Sirius shook his head, numbly. “Good. They’re _my_ secrets, Sirius. I’ll tell whomever I want. So _drop it._ ”

Sirius dropped it.

* * *

It may have been easy being brave in front of his friends, but the whole school was abuzz with his appearance during the Feast. He’d _finited_ the spells holding his school robes together and there were so many holes and rents and graffiti that McGonagall flushed as she collected them from the train. “Good lord, Lupin, is that you? Ten points from Gryffindor for indecent exposure. Put some clothes on, for Merlin’s sake, before you catch your death. Or someone else’s. Good lord.” Remus counted it a personal best – no Marauder had yet to get demerits _before_ the start of term.

Small victories aside, things only got worse once the Slytherins caught wind. The whispers started immediately, hissing loudly over the din of Sorting. There was something foreign and dangerous in their midst. Something _Muggle_. 

_Let them think it. You are dangerous. You are different._ He sat next to James on the bench, boldly facing away from the Slytherin table. As he spooned potatoes onto his plate, the few hairs left on the back of his neck tried vainly to rise and a shiver curled his shoulders upward to cover the vulnerable nape. Someone was staring at him. Well, likely _everyone_ was staring at him, but only one person could pierce through his defenses with such intensity. He knew if he turned he’d find two beady eyes, black as obsidian and brimming with hate, devouring the curve and shape of his skull. 

Remus very clearly heard a Hufflepuff complain about ‘queer scars’ and the air in the room seemed to thin. He’d never been _seen_ by so many people before, someone would know, someone would _tell_ …

He was close to bolting when Lily Evans marched down the aisle and blocked his escape. She studied him like a painter appraising a canvas, completely ignoring a sputtering James. She slid a delicate hand over his fuzzy skull, index finger just barely tracing the upper-most scar there: a jagged indentation where the wolf’s teeth had punctured the muscle. A shadow passed over her eyes and Remus’ heart shuddered; she knew exactly what the marks meant and was touching him anyway.

Lily smiled, blinking tears away, and flicked the studs in his ear with her nail. “I think it’s brilliant to be so brave,” the Head Girl said. “Remus, you look fantastic! I’d be tempted to shave mine, too, but my skull doesn’t look as attractive. It’s not nearly as inflated as some other people I know."

Remus grinned and tugged the braid hanging low over her shoulder. “It’s all the brains, makes your head lumpy.” He wanted very badly to kiss her just then, but James was glaring daggers at them over her shoulder and there were some things Remus knew better than to attempt.

She tossed him a mischievous smile and turned abruptly to James, who had, for once, not been making a grab at her ass. Remus refrained from mentioning that he _had_ been staring, just a little bit.

“Mister Potter,” she said. “I am deeply disturbed and insulted that we share Head duties this year. As we will be working together, your tireless flirtations will not be tolerated any longer.” 

“But, Evans, I just-“

“Therefore I believe it would be prudent of you to take me on a date this Saturday, just to get it out of your system. The location and activities are up to you, but if I see one dungbomb, jinx, or inappropriately placed camera then Remus will not be the only Gryffindor with a few extra holes in his head. This is your one and only chance, James Potter. I suggest you wear a tie.” 

With a final twirl of her skirt she returned to her seat, waving coquettishly at Remus as she passed. James stared stupidly after her, a deer caught in the headlights of love. 

Glancing back to the Slytherin table, Remus spotted Severus watching Lily walk away, mouth hanging open and looking completely blank. Peter and Sirius shared the expression.

James blinked, stunned. “I have a date. With Lily Evans. I am dating Lily Evans. Lily Evans asked me out. Am I dying? I think I’m dying. I don’t even own a tie.” He blinked again and fainted right off the bench.

Remus helped himself to the roll from James’ plate. It was going to be one hell of a year.

* * *

And it was, all things considered. England was in a state of upheaval, balancing between different cultures to see which fit best. ‘God Save the Queen’ was number one in the charts and blocked from the airwaves. The revolutionary zeal carried over into Hogwarts through the Muggle-born and half-bloods and there were demonstrations or clubs gathering every other weekend. Lily caused a bit of a stir when she declared herself proudly feminist and refused to wear a bra ever again, burning every undergarment in Gryffindor Tower to stop the patriarchal oppression. For one glorious month, chilling charms became very popular.

James had never been happier.

Things were going well for Remus too, though delicate wandwork still gave him trouble and his penmanship would never be the same. The Slytherins often called him queer in the hallway, but Remus learned if he tilted his head and hips _just so_ the leers would freeze and their eyes would linger. He grinned cheekily at Norman Bulstrode once and caused him to walk smack into a wall. Remus thought it was hilarious. 

He wasn’t exactly wanting for female company either, though most of the girls seemed to prefer Sirius’ brand of casual rebellion to his own. He’d unexpectedly made himself mysterious to the opposite sex, a dangerous punk that could quote poetry. Alice Sinclair cornered him after class, declared him an insufferably tragic romantic, and proceeded to fuck his brains out behind Greenhouse Number Two.

It was also in 1977 that the Dark Mark first appeared over a house in Surrey, and more notably on the arms of most Slytherins within the week. Muggles and half-bloods began disappearing and there were rumors of giant activity in the north. Voldemort was making his first overtures toward war, and the public had turned a very blind eye. 

Working for the Order after Hogwarts had come as naturally as howling at the moon - it was something he excelled at and could never resist. Every mission saw Remus moving a little faster, using more extreme hexes and spells. There were times Remus suspected Dumbledore of manipulating his education specifically with the war in mind, of playing a very elaborate and complicated game of chess with Voldemort. And he was under no illusions as to who the pawns were.

* * *

They’d all heard the prophecy, of course. A child was to be born unto two of their numbers that would change the course of the war for better or worse, though what good a baby could do against the Dark Lord Remus had to wonder. Everyone was on high alert and cautioned to be very careful about their choice of partner (which was a conversation with McGonagall he’d rather not repeat). Remus switched exclusively to fucking men and Muggles, just in case. There were only two legitimate couples in the Order, and both were under heavy guard. Remus took his turn watching the Longbottoms like everyone else, but drank beer with the Potters and let someone else handle the surveillance. 

He thought it was all going well, but when Lily announced proudly during a meeting in November that she was three weeks pregnant his heart stopped cold in his chest. 

His friends were going to die. It would be James and Lily targeted, Remus was sure; their confrontations with the Death Eaters had become far more personal since Lily’s parents were killed and James attracted attention standing still. Once Voldemort learned the Potters were expecting he’d hunt them down like… deer in a stag hunt.

Dumbledore smiled and hugged them both tightly. He looked relieved – the child fated to defeat Voldemort would at last be born. Remus knew Dumbledore tended to plan in the long term, and using this baby would require exactly that. How long until the infant was strong enough to fight back? How long would the old man drag this war along?

Remus respected Dumbledore, and was deeply grateful for everything he’d done, but he found it very hard to _like_ the man half the time. And he certainly didn’t trust him.

A round of congratulations and toasts flowed through the gathered crowd. Lily was beaming while James stayed solemn and pale, Sirius’ hand heavy on his shoulder. It occurred to Remus that they must have told him privately earlier - there was no way Sirius could have taken a revelation like that so calmly. He tried to hide the pang of bitter jealousy but didn’t think he’d quite managed when James looked at him oddly.

Meeting his eyes across the room, a fierce remorse filled Remus. _This is how it ends for the four of us, right here. Things will never be the same again._

How could they have done this? Was the baby an accident, or had they become so desperate to end the war that they actually planned a child in all this mess? 

Watching the two of them hold each other - Lily leaning against James’ chest, hand on her belly and his on the small of her back – Remus’ chest ached with the love he had for them. _This_ was their final act of rebellion, the third confrontation sealing their fate. Intended or otherwise, this pregnancy made them a focused force together, and they’d support each other through anything. They’d have to if they wanted their love to survive.

Remus was terrified for them.

_Run, James. Take Lily and get as far away from here as you can. For once in your life it’s not about being brave anymore. It’s about her. It’s about your baby, for fuck’s sake. Take your family and run while you still can._

He stared into James’ steady eyes and saw a dreadful knowledge bloom there: James knew the consequences of this, and was willing to die for it. He would not abandon his family or his cause. _God, you bloody Gryffindor. Take them somewhere safe, please!_

The room had gone quiet and Remus could feel the other Order members watching them silently. Sirius frowned at him. 

He took a breath (had he been holding it all this time?) and summoned a smile. The lie came easily to his mouth and Remus let it fly, smooth as silk. “Well, Prongs, it’s good to see all those bludgers to the crotch didn’t do any permanent damage. Congratulations, you mad bastard; you’re going to make one hell of a father.”

James sighed, shoulders slumping and knocking Sirius’ grip away. Remus punched him in the shoulder and pulled them both into a tight hug. Lily was soft and warm when he held her, and Remus almost wept from loss. He buried a sob in her braid but raised dry eyes for Sirius’ toast.

_To Potter the third. May you have your father’s courage, your mother’s determination, and your godfather’s natural ability to drive them both mad. Congratulations!_

* * *

The country grew darker as the days grew shorter, desperate to hold onto any light it could. Muggles disappeared from their homes by the dozens. Wizards left for work and never arrived. The Underground was a death trap and floos were unreliable. There were reports of inferi to the south and rumors of spies within the Order itself.

It was best to not be noticed these days so Remus removed the earrings and grew his hair long again, shocked to find streaks of gray hidden among the brown. He sewed patches onto his clothes and walked with his shoulders hunched to avoid eye contact with strangers. People stopped crossing the street as he passed, and Remus regretfully found himself just another of England’s unwashed masses.

The world seemed to be holding its breath, sinking deeper into murky waters.

Then, on an overcast day in late July, there was Harry. Harry James Potter, born with a crop of dark hair and abnormally long toes - the first heir to the Marauding legacy. It was a quick delivery and Lily had done very well, though James fainted at the sight of the placenta. Luckily, Sirius had been holding Harry at the time and Peter was able to revive the new father with a few hearty slaps.

Remus himself had not been present at the birth (though his mother had come out of partial retirement to aid in the delivery). The moon had the audacity to be full the night of the blessed event, and he slept off the worst of it in the shack. He hadn’t blamed James for staying with Lily - had insisted he do so, in fact – and Sirius had cried off for “godfatherly duties, Moony, you understand.” Peter could have been spared, but was always nervous about going solo during the moons; one swipe of a paw and Wormtail would be werewolf chow. 

So, Moony had spent the night alone and made certain Remus knew he was unhappy about doing so. His body seemed to be healing slower than it did as a child, and by the time he was up-and-about again three days had passed. 

Harry was the first baby Remus had been so close to before. He’d heard somewhere that they were just a jumble of sensations at that age and incapable of real interaction, but was shocked to peer casually into the basinet to find bright green eyes watching him closely. He’d thought babies’ eyes were supposed to be blue and change as they grew older, but Lily’s emerald stare in such a small face mesmerized him. A chubby hand reached blindly and grabbed hold of Remus’ finger.

His skin was so _soft_. Remus had never thought of the lad as relating to anything other than the prophecy, a savant due in diapers. But this child was more than a metaphor, more than a rallying cry – he was simply Harry, a boy created out of love and the most perfect thing he’d ever seen. He looked so small laying there amongst the blankets and stuffed toys. How could so much hope be wrapped in something so fragile? 

Harry blinked blearily upwards and smiled, tugging Remus’ finger towards his mouth. Remus pulled away quickly, making the baby squawk. What had he been thinking? Remus was a _werewolf_ , for pity’s sake; he had no place next to something so precious and unspoiled. What if he did something wrong and ruined the baby? 

Lily rushed in to gather Harry close, rocking him gently back and forth. “I think he likes you, Remus - this is the quietest he’s been all day. See how he’s watching you? Here, why don’t you hold him for awhile?”

“No! No, I mean… Weak arms. With the transformation so close, I… I wouldn’t want to drop him. I’ll hold him next time I come round, Lily, you keep him warm ‘til then.”

Lily, ever compassionate, nodded sadly and wandered to the kitchen where the others had gathered. Remus spent the rest of the evening watching from his chair as his friends cooed and cuddled the future savior of the wizarding world.

* * *

The Prewitt brothers were killed on a muggy afternoon nearly two weeks after Harry’s first birthday. Remus found their smoldering bodies in an alley near the Longbottoms flat, ambushed and hexed from behind as they changed guard shifts. A bright purple curse shattered the bricks above his head as he bent to check them and Remus darted into the shadows along the opposite wall just in time to avoid a similar fate. 

He was sure there was only one Death Eater hiding somewhere at the mouth of the alley; a whole cadre would have attacked him by now. Remus cast a concealment charm on himself and stood very still, the edges of his body blending into the darkness.

“The Dark Lord will be so pleased at the gift I hand him. A flock of phoenixes, reduced to nothing but ash,” the Death Eater crooned, his voice bouncing off the walls around them. “To think I didn’t believe the spy when he told me how to find you. Come out now, little mouse. It’s time to let the cats have at you.”

 _Wrong pet_ , Remus thought, wand burning hot in his hand. _I’ve always been more of a canine, actually._

A shadow shifted above him and Morsmordre burst into the sky, the sickly green skull unfurling through the clouds. The light glinted off the silver mask of the Death Eater perched atop a fire escape not two meters over Remus’ head. 

Footsteps were running toward the alley, but Remus didn’t give himself time to stop and think. He rolled away from his hiding place, took aim and fired a green bolt so powerful it made his palm go numb. The _AK_ hit the Death Eater square in the chest, pushing his body to the pavement with a sickening crunch.

For a moment all was silent, and Remus felt nausea pull at his stomach – he’d never used an Unforgivable before. A moan from below him made Remus turn, wand tip glowing. Fabien had crawled away from his brother, a little life in him still. Remus watched, horrified, as the skin on his body burned over and over, melting the flesh onto the bone. He knew what the Death Eater had meant about ashes now, and what hex he’d used to on the twins – a variation of _fiendfyre_ that once cast would burn forever, blazing unchecked until nothing was left of its victim but dust. There was no countercurse, and the pain was said to be incomprehensible.

Remus looked into his friend’s eyes and cast _Avada Kedavra_ for the second time that night. At the mouth of the alley stood James Potter, morbid light glinting off his thick glasses and wand dangling uselessly from his fingers.

* * *

Remus had just come from being sick in the Potter’s loo when he overheard voices in the kitchen. There was still an afterimage of brilliant green on the back of his eyelids every time he blinked and he needed to steady himself outside the door for a moment before going in. He could hear the clink of glass inside and was relieved to know James had broken out the firewhiskey. If there ever was a time for a stiff drink...

It took him a moment to recognize James’ fluttery voice in the other room; he’d never heard fear in it before. “I mean, I know this is a war and all, but, Lily… He was so calm. I’d never seen anything like it.”

A chill ran down Remus’ spine and he hugged closer to the wall. He’d just been gone a moment, surely they weren’t talking about _him_...

“Oh, James.” Lily’s voice was soft when she answered; he wondered when the willful flower child had grown into this comforting woman. Had motherhood done that and he just didn’t notice? “Remus has never been one to show his emotions, you know that.”

“He wasn’t hiding anything, the emotions just weren’t _there_. Lils, he never even raised his voice. He was just standing there, wand in the air and Morsmordre above him, the Prewetts lying on the ground. And then… He just pointed his wand and said it. He killed Fabien, just like that. Then he grabbed me and disapparated back here. Merlin, he left them lying in the dirt, like some random corpses for the Muggles to find.” 

There was the tinkle of ice in a glass, then a long silence. Remus wanted to jump into the kitchen, yelling and smashing china until they would listen to reason. _I did it for him, James, can’t you see that? I killed them both so we’d be safe._ He slid slowly down to the floor, instead, his weak leg unable to hold his weight.

James was quieter now, almost whispering. “I’ve known Remus was a werewolf for a long time, but up until tonight I never _believed_ it. Even at school, I never…” _Oh god, here it comes. Please James, not you too._ “I’ve never been afraid of him before now. He really is a Dark Creature, Lily.”

Perhaps Remus had gotten hit with a curse and not noticed - it was getting hard to breathe and he had to rub at his eyes to see clearly. 

“Lils, if he can perform the killing curse without batting an eye then what else can he do? We can’t let him around the baby anymore.”

“James, are you sure about what you saw? I know something’s not been right with him for awhile, but he adored Fabien and he’s never even touched Harry.” _Oh Lily, thank you. Talk some sense into him, please._

“And why is that, do you think? Wouldn’t you want to hold your best friend’s baby? Unless there was a reason you couldn’t. Or _shouldn’t_ …”

Silence, and then Lily sighed. “All right. We need to tell Dumbledore about the Prewitts and what Remus is capable of. He’ll know what to do.” A chair scraped against the linoleum; Lily was standing up. “Is Remus still in the loo? I haven’t heard him come out yet. We need to make sure he doesn’t suspect anything…”

Remus left before she came out of the kitchen. He threw up a bit more in the bushes outside the Potter’s gate, but steadied himself enough to apparate home and to the liquor cabinet waiting there. Sirius was gone when he arrived, which was not altogether unusual; though they technically shared a flat, Remus had more conversations with the tea cozy than he did with his mate.

The next day James and Lily went into hiding and the missions Dumbledore send him on become more dangerous, more violent, and, ultimately, more futile. He began to get a reputation for ruthlessness amongst the enemy and people crossed the street to avoid him again, though he wasn’t sure why anymore.

The next time he saw the Potters was on the cover of The Daily Prophet, November 1st edition. The pictures of their broken home were startling, and when he heard about the atrocity between Sirius and Peter something inside him shattered - he could feel the jagged edges grind together deep inside his body, as if his ribs were punching into his heart with every breath.

Remus didn’t cry during the funerals. Instead, he held his mother’s hand so tightly it was bruised for a week after. He didn’t have it in him to feel guilty for it anymore. 

At night he lay in bed awake, and if he squeezed his eyes tightly enough he could still see the flash of green imprinted there. It reminded him of Harry’s eyes staring up at him, holding his finger in his soft little hand.


	3. Chapter 3

He’d originally turned down the DADA post when Dumbledore offered it to him by owl, even though he’d just lost his third job that year. Everyone knew the position was cursed and one Dark curse was more than enough as far as Remus was concerned. Besides, he’d never taught a day in his life – Albus only wanted him there because Sirius sodding Black had escaped that summer and he thought Remus would be best suited to protect Harry. _It’s not true_ , he’d replied. _I’ve never had any control over any of them, as the events of twelve years ago clearly show. Please do not ask again._

Dumbledore had merely pulled his trump card. _Severus,_ he wrote, _has agreed to brew the Wolfsbane potion during your employment here. Surely you have heard of its development these past few months? The student body will remain safe as long as you follow the prescribed regimen of doses. I have procured the recipe by revoking several long-standing personal favors – it would be a shame for the effort to have been in vain. You are the best person for the job, Mister Lupin. I expect you to be on the train come September first._

It seemed as though Remus were always “the best person for the job”. If he’d known he’d forever be repaying the boon of his education he’d have burned every Hogwarts letter he’d received as a child.

But in the end it was the promise of the experimental potion that lured him back to the castle, though the thought of seeing Harry and the pending eviction notice may have tipped the scales. Suitcase packed and labeled, he gave his landlord the finger on his way out the door and headed off to Scotland for the first time in over a decade. 

Teaching robes were far more expensive than the jeans and jumpers he usually wore, though a necessity on this particular venture. Rather than spend a significant part of his savings to buy new things, he dug through his old Hogwarts trunk (moldering in his mum’s attic for years) and adjusted his old robes to fit as best he could. The younger Weasley’s remark about one good hex finishing him off was galling – he thought he cut a rather nice figure, all things considered.

Harry’s eyes were still as green as he remembered them, though he’d expected the son of Lily and James Potter to know better than to tell secrets in front of a perfect stranger, even one that appeared to be asleep. The better half of the Marauders must have been rolling in their graves.

He’d read about Harry in the Daily Prophet like every other wizard in Britain, but seeing the lad in person was still a shock. He looked so much like James it made Remus shiver, and he carried himself with the same confidence as his father. But as Harry lay unconscious after the dementor attack on the train Remus was transported back over a dozen years, staring down at a tiny infant grasping for his finger. He kept his fists clenched tightly in his pockets and watched the boy from a distance, offering chocolate and running off to the engine room at the first opportunity. He must have been mad to accept this post, to think that he could make a difference in little Harry’s life… 

There was no backing out now, and to his surprise the first few classes he taught were something of a revelation. Every morning there was a host of fresh, eager faces staring up at him, waiting to learn. The sixth and seventh years were suitably distracted with hormones and the opposite sex to really do more than take notes at the relevant parts, but the first years… oh, the firsties. The students were building their lives on the skills he taught them. It was an amazingly humbling experience to be so influential in someone’s life.

The worst part of it all was that he could tell them anything, and they’d believe him. He could explain how Muggle telephones could suck your soul out through your ear unless you spun in a circle and tapped it three times with your wand and _they’d believe him_. Remus didn’t think he’d ever been that young, or that naïve, though he supposed being turned into a slavering monster when he was six might have had something to do with it. 

Sometimes the temptation to lie was too great to resist, and he felt mischief curling behind his teeth like a tongue. He’d remind himself of the DADA professors of his youth, wearing silver crosses to class or lecturing on the habits of “perverse” Dark Creatures. He promised himself he’d never be that way, would never lie to these children. 

To his everlasting regret, it was a promise he’d be forced to break over and over again.

* * *

Remus hated tea. His mother’s cure for everything had been a strong cuppa and as many biscuits as she could fit on a plate. For years the smell of tea brewing would raise images of his father slamming out the front door, his grandparents wake, and moon after moon after moon. There were times his stomach would ache with it, noxious warmth sloshing along his insides and threatening to spew up his throat.

But he was English, and the whole bloody country seemed to feel differently. So when Harry Potter came to his office hours during the first week of class, he’d smiled and offered him a cup of tea. And when Severus arrived with his first Wolfsbane dose, it occurred to him that there were a lot worse beverages than tea lurking about.

Severus. Severus Snape had been one of the biggest surprises about returning to Hogwarts. He’d heard the man was teaching potions there, of course, but he hadn’t really thought about it until that first night. It was eerie enough to be sitting at the head table throughout the Sorting instead of with the Gryffindors, but to have Severus watching him the whole time… It was just like when they were kids and Severus would follow them around the school, hoping to catch them at something.

He could have told Severus that there wasn’t anything worth looking for any longer. He might have found it exciting being the center of attention when he was younger, but he’d spent far too many years working far too hard at anonymity to be comfortable with that level of attention now. It was easier to keep his head down and not make a fuss, and try to get through the year in one piece.

* * *

Remus was having a pleasant dream, one where his lover’s hands were in his hair, their strong fingers caressing his scalp. The hands were warm and in his dream he moaned and leaned into the touch… only to be shocked awake with a hard shove to the shoulder, pushing his chair back and slamming his head on the desk. When his vision cleared he saw Severus glaring down at him, a steaming goblet in one hand. 

Not thinking clearly enough to censor himself into politeness, he yells the first thing that comes to his mind. “Jesus Christ, Severus! Aren’t I safe from you in my own office? What is your problem?”

“You mean aside from the new Defense teacher being an attempted murderer and helping his catamite lover into the castle? I haven’t a clue.”

“Sirius Black is _not_ my lover. Nor was he ever. And I’ll ask you not to say traitor’s name in my presence again.”

Severus shifted subtly, weight settling on the balls of his feet, back straightening. Remus sighed. He’d been trying to avoid a confrontation with the man, but his tone, so effective against punks and prefects, had started one anyway. “I apologize, Severus. I was just enjoying a nap before you so rudely interrupted. Tutoring seventh years in wandless magic is rather exhausting, I find.”

“Try teaching a double block of potions and defense to Neville Longbottom, which is what I’ll be doing tomorrow while you sleep this off.” Severus proffered the goblet closer and Remus nearly gagged on the smell. “If you cannot handle the job then find another one, Lupin. As such, you have a bed. I suggest you use it.”

“My bed has been irritating empty as of late. There aren’t many suitable partners in a castle full of children, after all.”

Their fingers brushed as Remus reached to take the potion. Severus jerked away, walking to the other side of the room. “Why would that stop you? You are a Dark Creature, after all.”

Remus glared but let the dig slide, studying the potion in front of him – he’d drank it so quickly in front of Harry that he’d not had the chance to register anything aside from the taste. It was light gray, but caught the light on the surface like a prism, an oily sheen clinging to the side of the cup. Still bubbling slightly, it was hard to believe something so innocuous could pacify the monster inside his body.

“Harry thought you might be poisoning me, you know. When you delivered this to my office the other day.” He was careful to keep his eyes on the swirling depths of the potion, but knew Snape was watching him again. “It occurs to me now that I might have overestimated the development of our maturity here. It would be very easy for you to take revenge on me for everything the Marauders and I did to you when we were young.”

“You’ve already had one dose, for Merlin’s sake. I’d never purposely misbrew something so important – “

“I know you wouldn’t, Severus. You would never endanger the students that way. For all you hate to admit it I can see you have their best interests at heart. If this potion works tonight it will be because you made it. But… I know what you think of me, Severus - if you can hurt me and get away with it, you will.” He twisted the goblet in his grip, releasing another cloud of vapor over his face. He looked up, catching Severus’ dark gaze from across the room. “I’m completely at your mercy if I drink this, Severus. I have to trust you.”

“Lupin.” Severus let out a deep breath, a strange softness coming over his features. His voice was a strained whisper, as if he were fighting with himself about what to say. “I saw what that beast did to you once because of me and I’ll not let it happen again. Drink the bloody potion.”

For want of anything better to say, Remus did. And continued to do so all year, until the night he saw Peter Pettigrew’s name on the Marauder’s Map and left the steaming goblet untouched on his desk.

* * *

It had been a long, strange night – Peter alive, Sirius innocent, Dementors floating everywhere. And when he awoke at dawn, the world had changed again.

Remus found himself in Dumbledore’s office, a disappointment once more. Meeting with Dumbledore never ended well, it seemed. He could feel his tired mind slipping into that dreaded reactionary calm where his body worked on auto-pilot; too tired to be angry and too worn to be hopeful. He’d lived the last few weeks of the war feeling this way – strange that it’d come upon him again now.

“Well,” Dumbledore sighed, leaning back in his chair. “We knew this day would come.”

 _We did?_ Remus thought. _I was rather banking that it wouldn’t, actually. Aren’t you going to try to convince me to stay?_

“Did you ever wonder why I continued to use you in the Order after you killed those men, Remus?” 

Remus blinked. It had been twelve years since that afternoon, and the flicker of green still clouded his vision some nights.

At his silence, Dumbledore continued. “Murder is the ultimate negation of what I stand for, the ultimate destruction of soul. And yet, sometimes, it is a necessary tool for the greater good. I have been contemplating such things recently, Remus, and have come to the shocking conclusion that I do not know everything.”

He was staring at an empty frame across the room, its occupant out wandering the halls. The countryside moved hypnotically in an acrylic breeze. “You very easily could have been the traitor, you know. Tom was actively courting all manner of Dark Creatures back then and you hold secrets very well. You frightened them. And soon, I’ll call on you to frighten them again.”

Dumbledore was looking at him, all traces of his usual cheerfulness gone. “I am reforming the Order, Remus. The time will come when not even the Ministry can deny Voldemort’s return and we will need people on our side who are unafraid of lowering themselves before the enemy. I will not burden the young children of this generation as I did your own. Severus has once again begun spying on Voldemort for the Order’s behalf. I fear he may need help beyond any I can provide before this war is through, and I hope it is support you may provide. Remember, Remus: whatever it takes, for the greater good.”

Remus didn’t think he’d been very good at war the first time around and was sure he’d not gotten more adept in its absence. What possible good could an aging lycanthrope do for the Order? _He didn’t even ask if I wanted to fight, just merely assumed. Why does he always presume the worst of me? Why do I let him use me every time?_

“I will call upon your services again soon, but for now I suggest you take the time to regroup. The Slytherins will not hesitate to spread word of your condition outside the school now that the knowledge is open among them. I am afraid the coming weeks will not be easy for either of us.”

Remus gathered his cloak and stood to go. He could pack his things and floo back to London within the hour, he supposed, to avoid the barrage of howlers likely on their way. Dumbledore’s voice stopped him in the doorway. “And for what it’s worth, my boy, you really were an excellent teacher. One of the best we’ve had in a long time.”

He was tempted to laugh in the old man’s face, but settled on a small, bitter smile instead. “Thank you, sir. That means a lot coming from you.”

* * *

It was decidedly difficult finding a job after Hogwarts, especially after the article in the Daily Prophet came out, complete with a grainy picture and biting quotes from concerned parents. He was rather fond of the headline: _WEREWOLF ATTACKS BOY WHO LIVED AT HOGWARTS: ARE YOUR CHILDREN SAFE?_ His mum had clipped it and sent it to him by owl, complete with grammatical corrections done in red ink. 

He’d briefly considered growing a dodgy moustache and calling himself Romulus during job interviews, but thought the joke was likely lost on the average wizard. The melodrama would likely swallow him whole after awhile, anyway.

In the end, he did what he always seemed to do: rented a flat with transfigured euros and sought work in Muggle London. He hardly ever felt guilty about turning in a first month’s rent made entirely out of back issues of _Dark Arts Quarterly_ \- the counterfeit dosh was only temporary until he could get a proper wage, which never took very long. Night shifts were easy to pick up and his lycanthropic insomnia wasn’t an issue in jobs that paid by the hour. He’d discovered in the early eighties that employers almost never brought up his bruises or lack of energy if he mentioned early on about taking “treatments” for a “long-standing medical condition”. Nothing contagious, mind, but the therapy always took a lot out of him and meant he’d need a few days off once or twice a month. It was even the truth, in a round-about kind of way. 

He’d been bartending at a little dive around the corner from his flat for three weeks when Sirius Black walked in and ordered a beer on tab. The prison uniform was gone, but he still looked worn around the edges and far too thin. The other patrons took one look at the hollows under his eyes and gave him a wide berth. Remus was nearly overwhelmed by the irony of the once glorious Sirius Black being ignored in a pub. 

According to Albus, Sirius said, they were both to “lie low” until receiving orders to the contrary. It seemed the Ministry had taken offense to a werewolf tutoring their delicate youths and issued several new laws about the employment of Dark Creatures. 

Remus served Sirius his drink and put in his two week’s notice on his first break. The moon was going to be full again soon, anyway, and he might as well beat the bastards to the punch.

* * *

“Dumbledore has asked me to spy on the werewolves. He thinks Voldemort is trying to recruit them.”

Snape’s eyes squeezed shut and he rubbed the bridge of his impressive nose. “And yet you risk both our covers by merely telling me this? Excellent work. Have fun being mauled, Lupin.”

Remus inhaled sharply, the scents of potions and ink almost overpowering. He’d not come to Severus’ office looking to argue but barely managed to keep his tone civil. “I just wanted to let you know so that you’re not surprised if you see me at any meetings. Good day, Severus.” He turned to leave but paused when Snape called out from behind his desk again.

“How surprised would I be? They know we’ve met before, obviously, so any surprise on my part would just be bad acting. Wait, what?” He looked up from his marking for the first time, eyebrows drawn in a scowl. “What meetings?”

“With the Death Eaters; try to pay attention. As I said, Dumbledore is sending me to the werewolves. I’m to infiltrate as deeply into the packs as possible. If you see me while under cover, I’m asking you to act accordingly.”

“ _Act accordingly_. And how do you suggest I do that? Weave you a daisy chain to celebrate your conversion to the dark side? Or perhaps I should simply hex you on sight. You are a Dark—“

“Yes, Severus, I know. I am a Dark Creature, as you and everyone else keep reminding me! Did you think I would forget?” Remus knew he was shouting, but really couldn’t help himself. The louder he spoke, the further Snape leaned over his desk, speaking intently and not breaking eye contact. 

“You forgot that night, Lupin. You forgot and almost killed me and the children in your care. Because of you, Black escaped and –“

“Sirius is innocent, you imbecile! Are you too blinded by the past that you can’t see that?”

“I am not blinded by _anything_. I know _exactly_ what it takes to do my job. Just how deep are you willing to go for this, Lupin? The Dark Mark? Biting Muggles?”

“I’m willing to go as far as it takes. _Whatever_ it takes.”

“Hah! Now you sound like Albus. You Gryffindors always say things like that, but when it gets down to it you’re always the first ones to compromise everything rather than do what is necessary-“

“Do what’s necessary? _I_ won’t do what’s necessary? You have no idea what you’re talking about–“

“And you do? When have you _ever_ sacrificed _anything_ –“

“You sanctimonious prick-”

“Bloodthirsty mongrel-”

“God _damn it_ , Snape, you cowardly bastard-”

“THIS IS NOT ABOUT ME!”

Remus gasped as Snape’s shout reverberated around the small room, completely at a loss as to when the conversation had gotten the better of him. He and Snape were panting, leaning so close over the desk Remus could see the other man’s eyes dilate when he blinked. His huge nostrils were flaring wide, pink lips parted and wet. For one crazy, ridiculous moment Remus wanted nothing more than to crush their mouths together, to lick those crooked teeth. He’d never been so angry with anyone before, not even Sirius… 

He took a deep breath and pulled away slowly, wincing at the torn parchment under his hands. His body was shaking and it took longer than usual for his voice to steady. “You’re right; this is not about you. But it is about what you did. You outed me to the _Slytherins_ , Severus. How could you ruin me so completely? Do you honestly hate me that much?”

Severus looked away, a flash of something burning in his eyes. Remus was tempted to call it grief, if he didn’t know better. His jaw worked for a moment and then he spoke, hesitantly. “I am not a… nice man, Lupin. I wanted you to suffer for making me look a fool. And for Black being… _innocent_. You fucked up, not taking that potion. You are too dangerous to be at this school, with or without the wolf inside you.”

Remus squared his shoulders and stood tall. At last, Snape was beginning to understand. “Yes, Severus, I am dangerous; a fact Dumbledore is willing to exploit in order to win this war. And we _will_ win, because of what people like me, and Dumbledore… and you, are willing to sacrifice. This is something I can do to make sure that happens.” The ghost of an old grin flickered across his face. “Admit it, Severus. I’m the best liar you’ve ever met. Hell, it took my roommates two years to figure out I’m a _werewolf_.”

“Idiot Gryffindors-”

“It took you six. And you had help.” Remus thought for a moment, remembering a conversation in the library and strange footfalls in the hallway. Could Severus have known what he was _before_ he went to the Shack that night? The idea was absurd - who walked into the arms of a werewolf?

Severus slumped in his chair, picking up his quill and setting it down again. Remus watched him arrange the parchments back into order, fussy and precise in his movements. He couldn’t really remember why it had been so important to see Severus before contacting the wolves or why he felt so deeply disappointed having done so. It was time to move on.

He was nearly out the door when Snape’s quiet voice reached him. “They will want you to run with them on the full.”

Remus’ breath caught in his throat. It’s the one line he never crossed, the one thing he swore he’d never do, no matter how many times it was almost forced upon him. He could kill for his cause and would most likely do so again, but running with the wolves would surely lead to his doom sooner than any curse he could throw. They would have him hurt people in his wolf form. Despite his bravado to Snape earlier, Remus wasn’t sure he was strong enough to survive that.

Snape seemed to expect an answer. Remus had to clear his throat twice, and his voice still caught a rough edge. “Yes, I imagine they will.”

“It would hardly be beneficial to the Order to have you roaming the countryside like a rabid Grim – there is far too much of that happening as it is. I could brew the Wolfsbane potion for the duration of your mission, if you liked.”

Stunned, Remus spun around to find Severus marking again, slashes of half-hearted red bleeding out of his quill. Eyes bent to his work, he gave no indication that Remus was even still in the room.

Remus took the offering for what it was: an act of apology; a hand grasping for another in the dark. A sudden blossom of warmth curled in Remus’ chest – it felt a little like hope used to.

“Thank you, Severus. That will be immensely helpful.”

Snape reached the end of the parchment and turned to the next. “You are welcome, Remus. You may go now.”

As he left Snape’s office Remus felt a smile curve his lips, small and genuine.

* * *

The next time Remus felt strange hands in his hair, he was awake. He’d just lifted his leg up on an ottoman; the cold and damp of Grimmauld Place seeped into his joints and stayed there, festering and creaking every time he moved. All his old hurts came out in that drafty manor, and with Harry and the twins around during the holiday Remus felt like an old grandfather predicting the weather by the ache in his bones.

Remus hated feeling old. Being confined to Grimmauld with Sirius made him want to run, dance, grab the nearest warm body and snog ‘til morning. At the very least he was tempted to dye the gray out of his hair but Tonks and the others would have none of it. “You look distinguished,” she’d said, and turned her hair a sympathetic white that fell in soft curls to her shoulder. If Remus didn’t know her better, he’d have thought he was being mocked.

So Remus sat, nursing old wounds and rereading a note from one of his contacts among the werewolves, restless in his skin and sore in his bones. The silence of the house was absolute, and the sound of the front door opening carried easily to the library. He couldn’t think of any reason an Order member would arrive at such an odd hour but the wards remained intact. The footsteps drew closer, and Remus closed his eyes and deepened his breath, fingering his wand where it rested in his sleeve.

The footsteps stopped in the doorway for a moment and then slowly continued into the room; the intruder was obviously making a point not to wake Remus, though he could feel eyes watching him. He was ready for anything…save for the brief touch of fingers on his scalp, tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear and lingering to feel its softness.

It was disarmingly familiar.

Remus opened his eyes to see a man in black hovering above him, arm withdrawing back to his side. “Severus,” he asked. “Were you just touching my hair?”

Snape smoothed down a crease in his outer robe, hand settling just over a hip. “I was merely checking to see how well your pelt’s grown back in. Werewolf fur is an expensive ingredient to several useful potions. Tell me, Lupin, do you shed?”

Remus smiled warmly. “Not generally, no. But I’ll be sure to let you know if I shave my head again anytime soon.”

“Kindly do so.” They looked at each other for a moment, Snape’s long fingers tapping the cover of the book he was carrying, then inhaled sharply and spoke in a rush. “Whatever prompted you to do that in the first place? It was incredibly stupid on your part to show off your bite mark so plainly.”

Remus shrugged and shifted a little straighter in his chair. “I suppose I just got tired of hiding everything, though it would have been disastrous for that particular secret to be exposed at the time. They nearly wet themselves over a few earrings; how would they have responded to a werewolf?”

“Hexes and adult diapers, I’d imagine.”

Remus laughed in spite of himself. “Well, the English always did love a good public stoning. I can say from experience that the tradition lives on.”

The laughter settled into silence, both men staring into the fire and avoiding each other’s eyes. The secret _had_ been shared, of course, by Snape himself. He’d held the truth of Remus’ curse for over twelve years but a single moment of spite was enough to ruin that confidence.

“You know, Severus… we could have been friends, you and I. If things had been different.”

Severus sighed. “If things had been different… Tell me, Lupin, do you believe we sort too soon?”

“What do you mean?” 

Severus was staring into the flames, eyes hidden in shadow. “Something Albus said a few weeks ago, about courage and deception. It’s been on my mind. Do you believe we sort houses too soon at Hogwarts?”

Remus thought for a moment, rubbing his chin. Then he smiled, remembering his own sorting. “Well, the Sorting Hat wanted to put me into Slytherin and I talked it out of it. Imagine me in Slytherin? One look at my scars and second-hand robes and I’d have been bum boy for the pure-bloods all seven years. No, thank you. The hat called me a ‘deviant little puppy’ and off to Gryffindor I went.”

Snape smirked. “You’re not helping my confidence here.”

Remus laughed again, pleased to see the other half of Snape’s mouth curve into a weary smile. “Severus, was there something you wanted? I don’t need to take the Wolfsbane again for two more weeks.”

Snape drew in a breath, thrusting forward the book he’d been fondling. “Dumbledore needed this translated and since you and the mutt have nothing of importance to accomplish at the moment, I suggested you do so. If it’s too much for you to handle speak your mind now.”

He flipped through the old text, binding cracking dryly under his fingers. “My French is a little rusty, but it shouldn’t be that much of a problem. I’ll get started right away.”

Severus nodded and went back to the door. Before stepping through Remus heard him mumble, “Don’t cut your hair again, werewolf – gray or not, it looks ten times more appealing than that thick skull of yours did.”

Remus hadn’t laughed this often in months. Still, it only occurred to him after Snape had left that an owl could have delivered the translation just as easily as an overworked potions master.

With a grin he hauled himself out of the chair. There were a few boxes upstairs he wanted to unpack.

* * *

Remus held the cover up and blew gently, dust puffing up and clinging to the curtains. The bright pink and green seemed to glow in the weak candlelight from the sconce above. _Yes_ , he hummed, _this will do nicely. Straight to track two, I think._ Carefully, he removed the album inside and placed it reverently on the turntable, transplanted from his quarters at Hogwarts all those months ago. Soon the old familiar hissing and popping filled the air, and Remus turned the volume up as loud as it could go.

The drums were nearly enough to drown out Mrs. Black from the front hall, and the guitars made her screaming insignificant. Classic buildup and then that voice – young, broken, and vulgar, screaming through the darkness of the house. God, this was exactly what this dreary old place needed, a bit of revolution to tear through decades of pure-blood hierarchal bullshit. He grinned to think of what those punk boys would have done to the fancy wallpaper.

The old tensions built in his body and he started moving, bopping up and down to the beat. He sang along at the top of his lungs, hoarse voice cracking along with Johnny’s. _“Boooodyyy, I'm not an animal! Boooodyyy, I'm not an animal!”_

He danced until his leg gave out, and then collapsed panting in his desk chair, blissfully happy. The record played through two songs and Remus had started on the translation when the library door banged off its hinges into the wall.

Sirius stormed over to the Victrola, dressing gown flowing open behind him, bare chest gleaming. “Merlin’s mighty marbles, Remus, what the hell are you listening to? Do you _know_ what I had to do to Mother to shut her up?”

Remus didn’t look up from the parchment, quill bobbing next to his ear. “John Lydon is the voice of our generation, Sirius; it’s not my fault if your patrician sensibilities get offended. _Don’t you touch that record!_ ”

Sirius froze with his hand on the needle, body stiff. “Moony, it’s three in the morning.”

“Tough. You’re awake now, come help me with this. You were better at transitive verbs than me, anyway.”

Sirius whined pitifully, like Padfoot caught in the rain. “Please, Moony, have pity on me. I know you don’t sleep well but I’d like to give it a try, even if it’s full of nightmares.”

With a sigh Remus flicked a hand at the player, lifting the needle and returning the album smoothly back into its jacket. Silence fell heavy on the room; it made Remus’ neck itch. “Look, I’m not tired. Pick something else and turn the volume down before you go, would you? There should be some Beatles or Bowie in there; they should be mellow enough for three a.m. Or maybe Boardman’s solo album toward the back, I remember you were fond of him.”

Sirius was flipping through the box of albums, slowly. “I didn’t think you went in for this stuff. Thought you stayed away from anger and violence altogether, actually.”

“And the year and a half I shaved my head meant what, exactly?”

“No, I mean… That stuff wasn’t _you_ , just… you acting out. Like it was with me.” He pulled something from the bottom of the box and stared at it hard, voice growing distant. “I guess I didn’t know you as well as I thought I did.”

 _Of course not. You thought I was the traitor, remember?_ Remus rubbed his neck, vertebra cracking under his fingers. “The music helps me relax. All the chords are essentially the same so each song blends together into a wall of noise.” He blinked. “Wait. What _did_ you do to your mother to shut her up?”

But Sirius had sunk down to lean on the desk, staring at the small square in his hand. “You were so young then,” he breathed.

“What? Let me see – oh, my god. I’d forgotten this was in there!” It was a Muggle photo of two young men crowded around a bar, arms around each others shoulders and grinning like madmen. It had been taken during the summer of sixth year, right before he’d pierced his ears for the first time. 

Remus had very fond memories of that pub: he’d watched the Pistols there, and had fucked a man for the first time in the alley right outside nearly a year later. It had been a memorable experience, though sex in alleyways was rather overrated in Remus’ opinion – it was hard to get the angles right. But still, the feeling of being surrounded by tight heat had been worth it.

“Who’s the other bloke with you? He looks a bit dodgy.”

Remus’ smile broadened. “Sirius, it was the seventies, everyone was a bit dodgy. That’s the lead singer of the Sex Pistols, Johnny Rotten himself. I met him after a gig in seventy-six.”

“Cor, look at those teeth. Can you imagine kissing that? It’d be like snogging Snivelus.”

“I don’t know, sometimes strange teeth make it interesting.”

Sirius snorted and tapped the photo. “Right. What’s so interesting about that, aside from gingivitis?”

Remus shrugged. “He was funny. Charismatic. Intelligent. Tried to do right by his people and himself the best way he knew how. His hair and fashion sense were fantastic. Plus, he had a hot little arse under all those pins. Or above them, I should say.” The same _could_ be said for Severus, he supposed, but... _Therein lay madness_ , he told himself, and put the thought far from his mind.

Sirius gave a little shudder and looked down at his lap. “The way you talk about the bloke you’d think you fancied him or something.”

“I dunno. I suppose I did, a little bit.” In fact, it had been Rotten that convinced Remus of the value of punk: one conversation in a pub after hours was enough to change the next two years of his life. _If you’re poor, be poor,_ he’d said, _wear rags. If you don’t like the established order say ‘fuck it’ and stomp it into the ground._

It was easy to charm away the faults and wreckage of your life when you were a wizard. True courage lay in accepting them and displaying them proudly. In hindsight, he may have taken that philosophy a little too literally - he was damned lucky no one aside from Lily figured out his secret that year.

Sirius was staring at the photo in Remus’ hand and the ragged sleeve dangling from his wrist. “You were serious then, weren’t you, Moony? That night in the club.”

“I thought you were the serious one, eh Padfoot?” The joke was older than Dumbledore and went over about as well as it had when they were in school. Remus felt a headache starting behind his eyes. “I’d rather not talk about this right now, if it’s all the same to you.”

Sirius kept watching the Polaroid, as if willing it to move like a wizarding picture. “You kissed me.”

 _And you kissed me back, Sirius. You_ did, no matter how much you tried to deny it later. “I’m surprised you remember that, it was so long ago.”

“It’s a wonder I remember _anything_ , you mean. Most of it’s hazy, but some things are clear as day. Like… I remember how good you felt dancing next to me. You had your hands on my face. Your thumb rubbed my cheek when you asked me to take you.” Sirius’ hand stole up to his chin, caressing the rough stubble there. Remus felt transported back to that day in the dorms, all those years ago, with Sirius laying on the floor and stroking his hair. _Like this_. 

He threw himself back in his chair, rubbing his aching temples. “Jesus, Sirius, it was just a drunken kiss! It didn’t mean anything.”

“But you wanted it to, didn’t you, Moony?” Sirius watched the picture flutter to the floor, young Remus grinning madly under the arm of his idol. When it slipped out of sight he finally looked back at Remus, eyes wet and brimming. “Merlin. I was a real bastard, wasn’t I? No wonder you believed I betrayed James and Lily.”

Remus cringed at the word _betrayed_ and gripped Sirius’ arm tightly. “No, Sirius. You weren’t a bastard, you were just…”

Sirius sniffed into his sleeve. “Self-involved? Stupid?”

“Straight. And young. We were all young then, and we did stupid things.” He ignored the small voice in his head, whispering _you kissed me back_ over and over again. “Nothing that happened then or after was your fault. None of it was.”

“But if I’d just-“

“ _None of it._ I don’t blame you for that anymore. You shouldn’t blame yourself, either.”

Sirius covered the hand on his arm with his own, squeezing hard. “You should have been the secret keeper, mate. You’re a much better person than me and that rat combined.”

Remus shook his head, the idea laughable. “I can’t keep a secret like you can. It wouldn’t have worked, anyway.” Sirius’ head tilted curiously, and Remus was reminded all over again how perfectly matched his friend’s animagus form was. “You can’t bind something to a soul that’s not intact. The spell would have been warped, even if they had trusted me enough to perform it.”

He nodded. “Your lycanthropy. I didn’t even think about that. Something else that bloody curse has cost you. It’s just so unfair.”

Remus blinked. How could Sirius not know about that afternoon, and all the missions after it? Had James never told him? _God, we were so far apart then. What happened to us?_

His lycanthropy had never even entered into his train of thought. Though, he supposed, if he were desperate he could attach a secret to the _wolf’s_ soul, buried deep within his chest… if the wolf had anima separate from his own in the first place. Remus rather liked the idea that a part of him was whole and uncorrupted, despite all efforts to the contrary. 

They sat quietly together for awhile, each lost in their own thoughts. The silence was comfortable this time, until Remus became aware of a thumb rubbing against his knuckles. 

“Moony,” Sirius said. “Do you still… feel the same? About me?”

Remus took a deep breath, drawing his hand away slowly. There were rumors about Sirius and the Defense teacher that year, a Russian beauty straight out of a Bond film. There were also the persistent rumors of Davey Gudgeon in the supply closet, although Remus had never asked if either were true. Sirius had wanted to fuck anyone and anything that year except for Remus, who’d practically begged for it. Sirius never voluntarily touched Remus except on the morning after the full moon, when he’d fuss over Remus’ every sigh. By the time they were sharing a flat together Remus would look forward to the nights Sirius stepped out with women – the dates distracted him from worrying about Remus. Being the focus of all that aborted energy was…painful.

And yet, here was Sirius: a wrinkled, faded version of himself with yearning eyes and a desperate mouth. Remus thought about how long it took for light from a star to reach earth, and thought about how bright his friend had been in those early years. He leaned across the desk, eyes slipping shut. Then he was kissing Sirius again, softly. He kept his lips closed and the pace slow, letting Sirius take the lead.

It was the singularly least erotic moment of his entire life. Remus was sure he had better chemistry with the Victrola than with Sirius Black. Hell, he had better chemistry with _Snape_ than with Sirius.

When he pulled away Sirius gasped, speaking quickly on the exhale. “I’m sorry, Remus, I just can’t. I can’t do this.”

“I know, Sirius. Me-“

“No, it’s just. Since Azkaban I haven’t, and you’re just so – and I’m–“

Remus frowned. “I’m so _what_ , Sirius?”

“You’re just so… _comfortable_ with all of this. You’re so _good_ at it. You always have been, and you’ve been waiting so long, I just… I want to do this right for you.” 

It was then Remus decided Sirius was delusional – he’d never felt comfortable about _anything_ to do with his body, let alone during moments like this. 

Sirius was crying again, and gasped in another breath when Remus wiped a tear away with his thumb. “I can do better. I know I can.” He nodded, more tears spilling. “Let me try again? Please?”

“Oh, Pads.” Remus leaned their foreheads together, breathing in the smell of dog and dust. A knot in his shoulders loosened, as if he’d been holding himself still for far too long. “You can’t disappoint me, Sirius, no matter what you do.” _You’ve already done that so many time there’s nothing left to disappoint anymore._

He pulled away, rubbing circles on his friend’s back and smiling encouragingly, as one would to a small child that’s scraped its knee. “How about this: you let me know when you’re ready to try again, and then we’ll revisit this, hmm? For now, it’s late. We should both try to get some rest. The translation can wait until tomorrow.”

* * *

Two weeks later, Sirius ran off headfirst to the Ministry and fell straight through the Veil. _Some things never change_ , Remus thought, and held Harry all the tighter.

There was no funeral, only the rush to abandon Headquarters before the Malfoy’s were alerted to its vacancy. In his haste, Remus was forced to leave the gramophone and records behind to gather dust in Grimmauld Place’s library.


	4. Chapter 4

Remus shouldn’t have been surprised that after months of carefully working his way through the lesser packs he discovered Fenrir Greyback - the terror of his childhood and scourge of the wizarding world – was pushing sixty, had arthritic knees, dirt under his nails, and all the charisma of a wilted doily. Remus shook the man’s hand and stared, memorizing every detail of his personal bogeyman and knew himself to be better off. Probably stronger, too, despite thirty years of transformations eating away at his bones – after all, Fenrir transformed, too. 

The only thing the rumors got right about the werewolf was his unhealthy predilection for young men. In fact, what made his ‘pack’ so much more dangerous than the renegade werewolves spread out over Europe was not its powerful leader, but the disenfranchised youth at its core, drawn to a life of animalistic power and mayhem. There were a number of Muggles turned by Greyback against their will, but most members had actually sought out life in the pack. The lifestyle attracted a certain mentality, men who’d reached a point in their lives when being savaged by a monster was better than continuing on the way they had been. Those strong enough to survive a night amongst the wolves were accepted, praised, loved.

Remus fit right in. 

Hostility was to be expected – he was a stranger to the group, after all – and once again Remus was covered in bruises and scratches. He was amazed to find he held his own, and walked away with less than his attackers. He never instigated the fighting but didn’t back down when approached, meeting the younger challengers head on. 

Two months in, Remus broke the wrist of the largest man in camp and hexed it to stay that way until he apologized for ruining Remus’ breakfast of cold beans and toast. He was given a wide berth after that, finally treated with grudging - and slightly fearful - respect.

By the time Christmas rolled around, Remus found himself on the other half of the spectrum. He’d spend hours around the campfire, talking late into the night about philosophy and magic, the eagerly converted boys following him raptly around camp the next day. Living with the pack – really more of a wandering gang than the feral monsters of old – was so similar to the punk clubs of the late seventies that it felt a little surreal, and surprisingly comfortable.

* * *

His first full moon with the pack was nothing like Remus had expected. He’d never had a transformation so simple before, surrounded by people who _understood_ and didn’t offer sympathy or condolences but just let it _happen_ , because it was happening to them, too.

The noise had been terrible – breaking bones and screams echoing through the forest. The cries quickly turned to howls and soon the night was theirs.

Remus could feel the wolf’s mind surging just beneath the surface of his thoughts, but Severus’ potion worked as promised and he was able to ignore the more extreme urges. His skin crawled under his new fur, and he shook it out as he looked around with eyes better suited to the darkness. There were thirty or so wolves spread out over the camp, in varying stages of transformation.

It was the first time Remus had ever seen another werewolf transform and Remus was fascinated despite himself. They were all roughly the same size, larger than a normal wolf but with broader shoulders. The paws were longer, almost like fingers, and yes, there was the tufted tail described in such detail in the Defense textbooks. They certainly were impressive creatures all together, and Remus understood why werewolves were feared by normal wizards, and fictionalized by the muggles.

Remus himself had no idea who was who once they were all sniffing about, but suspected the gray wolf limping around the back of the pack to be Greyback. He certainly wasn’t acting dominant…but none of the others were, either.

By nature, werewolves weren’t social as common wolves were: they had no desires save to hunt, to bite, to consume. If man was not immediately present, the beast would search him out – a large number of wolves covered a larger territory, so others were tolerated on the night of the change. 

Once his joints stopped popping and his body settled into a rhythm suitable for walking, he pounced playfully at the nearest wolf. The dour looking timber backed away, completely scandalized at such uncalled for behavior. Remus would have laughed if he could, but made a little chuffing sound in his throat instead, the other wolf sniffing him tentatively. He set about chasing his own tail, and within moments the timber was doing the same, falling over dizzily. It was the first time Remus could remember having fun as a wolf.

Eventually the pack tired of investigating the men’s camp and worked its way out into the surrounding woods. When they began to head towards the nearby town, Remus nipped the heels of the lead wolves, turning them deeper into the forest instead. He kept an eye on the gray wolf, and made sure it stayed with the group. Once they were a good distance away from the smell of man Remus pounced on the other wolf again. He jumped back and pounced again, flipping his tail in its face. The timber growled and swatted him back, mouth wide in a toothy grin.

They played games of _Catch Me_ and _What’s That Funny Smell_ all through the night, and near moonset Remus drove the pack back toward the camp, where the wolves slept fitfully until their transformation. No one was reported hurt or bitten that morning but the men were all exhausted and pleased with themselves, so the run was deemed a success.

Remus himself shuffled away from the group during breakfast to tend his aches in private. The men let him be, knowing the transformation was harder on the older wolves’ joints – _he was only thirty-seven for fuck’s sake, he wasn’t old at all!_ Still, he grinned and bared it, taking the time alone to owl Dumbledore about the moon.

There were no signs of Wolfsbane among the pack. If Severus could keep him supplied with the potion, then Remus could control them very easily. As long as he didn’t back down, forced submission from the larger wolves and kept the pack together during the moon, he was sure he could keep everyone safe and alive. 

He didn’t know what he’d do when the war escalated and Voldemort gave them a specific task to fulfill on the night of the full. Werewolves were notoriously hard to control once transformed, though a small amount of deadly chaos could be exactly what the Dark Lord was looking for. He’d need to discuss it with Severus and Dumbledore, and come up with a new plan.

* * *

A few days after the full, Greyback sidled up to Remus’ tent and suggested the two go for a walk. He’d watched Remus’ rise in the ranks very closely, but kept his distance; it was the first time either man had approached the other since Remus was brought into the pack several months ago. He laced his boots tight, made sure his wand was secure in his sleeve, and followed Fenrir out into the rain.

They walked the perimeter silently for awhile, eventually resting on a low ridge overlooking the entire camp. They’d settled in an abandoned mill for the moment and Remus could see the lights of many fires flickering off the broken windows.

Fenrir watched with him. “You’ve been coming and going from our little troupe for quite some time now, Lupin. Is there a reason you don’t want to stay?”

“I have some things I need to finish in that other world before I leave it for good. My mother’s still there, for one, and she’s not so young anymore. She’s the only person who ever cared for me after the bite.” 

“Mm.” Fenrir eyed him slyly, tongue worrying at his pointed teeth. “I remember you now, I think.” 

You hid in the woods outside my house for hours, waiting so your wolf would attack the first person it saw. You made me a monster when all I wanted to be was a child. Remus had been waiting for this. 

“Yeah. You were the wolf fired from Hogwarts for teaching kids. How in the hell did you talk the old bastard into giving you that peach of a job?” 

Remus gaped, nearly swallowing his tongue. He had not been expecting that. Did Greyback truly not remember him? “Well, I… I suspect the Wolfsbane had quite a lot to do with it. He had someone make it for me.”

“Hah! Wolfsbane my saggy arse.” Fenrir spit into the grass at their feet. “They tried that swill on you, too? The Dark Lord had one o’ his potion masters dig up the recipe and hand it out months ago. Made us sicker ‘n a dog and twice as stupid. Weren’t happy ‘bout that, I can tell you.” 

Severus. 

Fenrir took in his schooled expression and laughed heartily. “You told Dumbledore it worked, didn’t you? I’ll be damned!”

“Well, he also insisted I spend the night locked alone in my quarters. Didn’t want to frighten the children, you see.” He winked and grinned, showing a hint of incisor. 

Remus shared a laugh with the monster in the rain, and had a sudden epiphany. He could kill Fenrir here, in this moment alone, and no one would ever know. He could take the pack somewhere the Ministry couldn’t follow, spend the moons running free in some dark forest far away from the threat of their baser instincts. It would feel so wonderful not to have to worry about this bloody war anymore, to not feel trapped by anyone or anything. He could be free. 

Fenrir slapped him on the back and latched a meaty hand onto the nape of his neck, fingers digging into the grooves he found there. He nodded, and surveyed his soggy domain with bright eyes. “You stick with me, Remus, and we’ll tear this rock apart one pebble at a time.”

Remus nodded, unsure his voice would carry, and clasped Greyback on the opposite shoulder. They walked like that, arm in arm, back to camp.

It was better to be second, he told himself, than to be leader. Harry and Dumbledore were counting on him to subvert the Dark Creatures working for Voldemort. He could be far more influential – and invisible – as Fenrir’s trusted lieutenant. It wasn’t worth it to dwell on what might have been.

He focused on the muddy grass under his feet and tried to feel happy about his place in the war.

* * *

Remus had been conversing with Severus through public owl for over six months by the time he could wander freely between the pack and Hogwarts. The letters, though never detailed or personal, always settled his frazzled nerves – Severus’ handwriting hadn’t changed in twenty years and the familiar chicken scratch made him smile every time. He kept them hidden in his boots on the off-chance of discovery and found himself looking forward to the nights he picked up his Wolfsbane from the castle in person.

One particular night he’d had to wait for his first dose of the potion for nearly an hour before Snape burst into his quarters, mumbling under his breath and undoing his tight collar. “Bloody damned detentions. Why they won’t follow the rules just once in this bloody school I – Lupin, what the hell are you doing here? How did you get in?” He stopped dead at the sight of Remus lounging comfortably in his high-backed chair, clutching the edges of his robe closed. Remus twirled his wand like a majorette and grinned, glancing pointedly at the calendar on the wall. Severus’ shoulders slumped. “Oh! Oh. No need to lord it over me, I would have remembered eventually. It would have been ready earlier if not for Harry Bloody Potter and his band of roving idiots…” 

Remus jumped out of his seat and followed a still mumbling Severus into his private lab, the tiny workroom hidden behind a bookcase. He’d only been there twice before and each time Severus cautioned him not to touch _anything_ ; given the stinking, bubbling cauldrons toiling away inside, Remus was apt to agree. 

Severus stopped before a small cauldron on a low simmer and took a deep breath over it. Remus had gagged when he entered the room, the cloying smell of Wolfsbane burning his sinuses. He wasn’t sure how the man could stand working with the stuff, let alone enjoy it as much as he did. 

The potions master took one look at the disgust on Remus’ face and snorted loudly. “It’s meant to be a poison to werewolves for a reason, Lupin. It wouldn’t do its job if you found it pleasant.” He carefully spooned out a healthy dose into a nearby goblet, measuring precisely to the rim.

Remus contemplated the festering ooze passed over to him, wondering what Severus had done to the batch he’d given Greyback to make the potion even more toxic, and decided not to ask.

“Still having problems with the Gryffindors disrespecting you? I’d heard you’d been promoted to Defense professor this year, doesn’t that make a difference?”

“Of course not.” Severus threw his head back, groaning. “God, I hate my job. I can’t wait for the curse to kill me most days.”

Remus smiled. “And that is precisely why it won’t. You’ll be made Headmaster after this, you wait and see.”

Severus glared. “ _You_ certainly are in a good mood. Someone donate a pair of ratty old slippers for you to chew on?” He wandered out of the lab and back into his kitchenette, fiddling about with a kettle and tapping it with his wand. Remus followed, still carrying the Wolfsbane. When Severus noticed him avoiding the potion he pointed his wand at Remus instead. “ _Drink that._ I don’t care how bad it smells.”

Remus groaned, held his nose, and swallowed down the dose in one huge gulp. It very nearly came back up again and Remus set the goblet down with a definitive _yuck!_

“Stop being a baby.” It might just have been because Remus’ eyes were watering, but he could have sworn Severus was smiling. By the time he’d blinked the tears away Severus had unbuttoned his robe again and was pouring water from the kettle. “Tea, Lupin? It will help wash the taste out of your mouth.”

Remus nodded on reflex and sipped at the steaming mug passed to him. In his surprise he almost spit it back out again.

“Oh my _god_ , Severus. This is fantastic! It’s not too sweet or too bitter, not too floral or powdery. Mmm, is that orange? Or - what is it called - chai?” He took a mouthful between each guess, and soon the cup was nearly empty. He moaned and tilted it straight up, trying to get the last drop out of the bottom. “That was the best cup of tea I’ve ever tasted! Where on earth did you get it?”

“I made it.” Severus raised an eyebrow and settled into Remus’ abandoned chair, taking his own cup of tea with him. “Try not to look so surprised, Lupin. I am a potions master, after all – if I can handle that swill you drink every month I can certainly produce a decent pot of tea. Your guesses were completely wrong, by the way. I’m astounded you survived six years of potions, let alone NEWTs level.”

“My passing grade would beg to differ. Still, insult me all you like as long as I get more of that delicious tea!” Remus reached for the cozy only to have his knuckles hexed raw. He sucked them into his mouth and glared balefully at Severus, who serenely replaced his wand in his sleeve.

“This particular batch also contains more caffeine than Pepperup and has potentially addictive properties. I drink it on Mondays. Or when I have to teach Neville Longbottom.”

“Well, good thing it’s Tuesday then. May I please have one more cupful? I promise to behave.” Remus batted his lashes playfully. “I always was fond of thing that weren’t good for me.”

Severus rolled his eyes. “You may have _one more_. But only half a cup, I have no idea how this interacts with the Wolfsbane. Speaking of, won’t your little doggy friends miss you? I’ve heard you’ve made quite the impression.”

Remus hummed and settled on the ottoman at Severus feet, careful of the hot cup in his hands. Forcing himself to sip more calmly than before, he answered. “I’m visiting my ailing mother today, as a matter of fact. We’re having tea. So tell me, Mum, how are things? Rheumatism acting up again?”

Severus chuckled – actually _chuckled_ – and took a sip of his own tea. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen this side of you before, Lupin. I shall have to remember to keep plenty of this brew handy; you’re rather a lot like a kneazle at the nip right now. Tell me, have you ever taken Muggle narcotics? I’d love to see your reaction to _those_.”

“Of course I have, Severus, don’t be dense. I was a werewolf in the seventies - you name it, I’ve taken it. And most of them on doctor’s orders, I’ll have you know.” He sighed and relaxed back on his elbows, draining his cup for the second time. “Speaking of, do you have anything stronger than tea around? This is lovely but I’m afraid it’s not quite what I’m craving at the moment.”

Severus stared back at him, then smirked slowly. “I’m sure we can find something. What exactly did you have in mind?”

* * *

They’d switched from brandy to shots of firewhiskey sometime in the night and Severus had removed his outer robe completely, his unlaced boots propped up where Remus’ head rested against the side of the ottoman. At one point Remus had attempted to transfigure it into a second chair, but ended up with an odd settee-like lump that was so imminently more comfortable he found it hard to stay upright. He’d just reached that loose happy stage in his drinking and was laying on it backwards, contemplating his unexpected partner. 

Upside-down, Snape’s nose was shaped like an oddly attractive turnip. “You know,” Remus told him, “you’re really not that bad looking.”

Snape rolled his eyes, pulling the bottle away from Remus and taking a healthy swig himself. “You’re drunk, Lupin.”

“No, really! I’ve always thought you were interesting looking. There’s real character there.” He made a broad swoop in the air around Severus’ face and wished for a cigarette. That move would have been so much more impressive had he been smoking. Too bad he’d given it up years ago.

“ _Having character_ is how polite people describe you when they want to call you ugly. Don’t insult me.” Severus’ bottom lip grew in an amazing pout; Remus never would have believed him capable if he hadn’t seen it.

“I do think so. And I’m not polite, so there you are.”

Severus stabbed the air with a finger, sloshing whiskey over the side of his glass. “You _are_ polite, when the mood strikes you. One of the most polite people I know. And the prettiest. It’s very frustrating.”

“I don’t feel polite. And I certainly don’t feel pretty. I’ve the second largest nose in our year, did you know that? Plus I’ve a weak chin, scar tissue, and premature gray to compliment it.” There were some very large words in that sentence – Remus was very proud that he only slurred their pronunciation once or twice.

Severus spoke into his glass before taking another sip. “I like the gray.”

“Thank you. See, that’s what I’m talkin’ about. You just have to own up to it! Accept your faults and enjoy them. Everyone has problems. Take James, for instance: golden boy of Hogwarts, everybody loved him, and he couldn’t see two feet beyond his nose. Remember in third year when Lily charmed his glasses to hover over his head until he apologized to you for turning your cereal into slugs? They were up there for a week because the bastard couldn’t find ‘em!”

“And you didn’t tell him where they were?”

“Of course not! He was hilarious bumping into everything. Peter eventually clued him in after he nearly fell down a moving staircase, though. Oh lord, be glad you weren’t like Peter! Poor lad started going bald in seventh year and he was so short everyone noticed right away. He was patchy, even as a rat! If that’s why he went bad, can’t say’s I blame him.” Remus chuckled and leaned in closer to Severus, nearly falling off the sett-oman. He grabbed Snape’s leg to steady himself. “Do you know why James always picked on you first, before any of the other Ssslytherinss?”

Severus looked intrigued, but far too heavy to move. “Tell me.”

“Head-butt instinct. I read about it once, all the great horny animals do it. The smaller male will take a great runnin’ leap and smash his skull into the dominant one, clashing over the right to fuck the girls. So he must’ve seen you as competition, right? Not so ugly now, are you?”

“And when I was no longer dominant he stopped challenging me. It’s a lovely thought, Lupin.” Snape’s eyes were distant and Remus wondered what he’d said to make him sound so sad. Severus lifted his glass in a toast and smiled again. “Tell me about Black. That proud perfect pureblood didn’t have a single spot up to the day he died.”

“Oh, but he did have something else. Two words: lactose intolerance.” Severus spit out his whiskey and took to coughing, liquid coming out of his nose. Remus smiled peacefully. “Mm hmm, the whole inbred lot of them. Who knew all it’d take to bring the Most Noble and Ancient House to its knees would be a few wheels of cheddar lobbed through their windows? I can’t tell you the number of times I transfigured his pasta into provolone just to see him moan and vomit. A large portion of seventh year at least. Good times.”

The coughing had evened out into great gasping laughter, tears streaming down Severus’ cheeks. It was a good sound, Remus thought, and patted his belly happily. With his other hand he rubbed Snape’s calf for a job well done.

Severus let out a deep sigh and wiped his face, mirth transforming him into a much younger man. “You astound me, Lupin. Twenty years of intense composure and now I’ve no idea _what’s_ going to come out of your mouth.”

“Or go into it? Speaking of, there’s something I’ve always wanted to ask you.”

Snape bristled, trying to straighten in his chair but only managing to slip sideways. “My personal life is none of your business! My mouth especially so!”

Remus blinked. “I only wanted to know about that posh accent of yours. Lily was from the same neighborhood as you and she never had that superior lilt you get. I got the impression it was something of an issue with her.”

“Wha – oh. That. Well, I’m Head of Slytherin. I run in higher circles now than I did then.”

“I see.” And he did, leaning his head comfortably against Severus’ foot. He’d had to posh up his accent himself once he’d started teaching – the Slytherins and Ravenclaws would never have respected a professor with working class inflection.

But Severus was shaking his head. “It’s not that I think I’m better than her, I never could be, it’s just... Think about it, Lupin. What chance would a poor mudblood half-breed like me have in _that_ common room? I kept my mouth shut, watched the Malfoy’s and copied as much as I could.”

“Severus.” Remus watched him, mystified. “I never knew you were a half-blood.”

“Of course not. I’ve taken great pains to make sure no one does. Well, Lily knew. And Dumbledore, of course. And I suspect the Dark Lord knows as well, but that it pleases him somehow to have a half-blood around. Very tricky, that one.”

Remus thought of a small boy on the train that first year, huddled into his seat across from Lily and wearing a shirt two sizes too big. He’d envied them their obvious friendship in the midst of a new and frightening world; it was almost impossible to imagine something like that for himself. Unwelcome in the face of that familiarity he’d passed by their compartment without saying hello, spending the rest of the trip in the small noisy room next to the coal car instead.

“Severus, are you ashamed of what you are? Of having to hide it?”

“I am ashamed of what I was. Not what I am now.”

“And what are you? Now?”

“A spy. You know what that’s like.” He shrugged. “I am also the top in my discipline throughout the whole United Kingdom, which people seem to forget more often than not. I made the little brats respect me, and became Head of my house for it.” He was watching Remus shrewdly, if slightly out of focus. “Same question. Are you ashamed of what you are, Remus?”

He looked away, fiddling with the dangling laces of Severus’ boots. “I try not to be. But it’s hard sometimes, especially when people are afraid. They get this look in their eyes... I feel like a monster.” Remus was grateful for Severus’ silence then - on any other night he wouldn’t have let a confession like that pass without insult. 

“Are you happy, Severus? I’ve had no amount of personal success in my life, and I’m nowhere near to happy. Do your accomplishments make you?”

He frowned. “I am…content, upon occasion. Right now isn’t so bad, for instance. Still. Our lives were not meant for happiness, Lupin, and I find I am glad for it. Everyone I’ve known to be happy has met with tragedy of some sort, including your dear friends. It’s better to avoid the complication altogether.”

Remus rubbed his eyes and tightened his grip on Severus’ ankle. “I don’t believe that. I can’t. We deserve happiness, no matter what we’ve done.” 

“I don’t –“

“What did you mean, Severus?”

“What? When?”

Remus sat up, knocking Severus’ leg off the squishy ottoman. “Before you distracted me we were talking about mouths. And things going into them.”

Severus swallowed as Remus began the long process of crawling onto the floor. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Lupin.”

“You were telling me to bugger off about your personal life. Does that mean you like things going into your mouth? That it makes you happy?”

He made it upright, arms akimbo for a moment until they found purchase on the edge of Severus’ chair. He pulled himself up like a cat, straddling Snape’s legs and anchoring himself on either side of his trembling thighs, hands lingering on inseams. “I don’t think you’re ugly, Severus.”

“Remus…”

“Please. I want this. I want you.”

Severus laughed, bitterly. “Now I know you’re lying.”

“No, I’m not.” Remus ran his fingers over Snape’s jaw, realization blooming in his mind. “Do you know, Severus, I don’t believe I’ve ever told you a lie before. I’ve lied to everyone I’ve ever cared about… except you. Isn’t that amazing?”

“Of course you’ve lied to me, you idiot. _This clearly Dark map from my childhood is just a piece of parchment that insults anyone who reads it. Childish, but surely not dangerous? Probably from Zonko’s._ ”

Aside from being a tad too hoarse the impersonation was spot on. Perhaps Severus was having trouble breathing? Remus undid the first few buttons of his inner shirt, lightly tracing an old scar on his collarbone with the tip of his finger. He thought back for a moment, trying to place the context of the quote. “No. No, that wasn’t a lie, just a half-truth. We knew you’d get hold of the map eventually and had to figure out a way to make sure you didn’t know we were spying on you. Sirius wanted it to electrocute you but I talked him out of it-“

“ _Remus_.” Strong hands worked their way into his hair, pulling him closer. One moved down his back and gripped his hip tightly. Their foreheads touched and Remus felt his eyes slip closed. Someone was trembling, but they were far too close for Remus to tell which one of them it was. “Why the hell are we still talking?”

He smiled. “Haven’t the foggiest. Your idea.”

They met in a scorching kiss, all grasping tongues and hard angles, sharp teeth and roaming hands. Severus tasted like whiskey, blood, and every dark thing Remus had ever wanted. 

He broke away with a gasp, the hand in his hair keeping him close. Remus ground down against Severus, bruised hip burning while Severus watched him with dark, fathomless eyes. 

He smiled crookedly, teeth catching the light of the fire. “Believe me now?”

* * *

After, when Remus’ muscles had stopped quivering and his legs collapsed onto the bed, he couldn’t help but laugh at how deliriously happy he was within his body at that particular moment. It had been _so long_ since he’d been touched that way...

He was just slipping into the warm lassitude he only ever felt after a really good shag when Severus shifted on the mattress next to him. _Jesus, Severus, don’t kick me out yet. I can’t feel my legs._

He closed his eyes and tried to gather his wits enough to remember where he’d thrown his pants, but was surprised to feel a sweaty arm wrap tightly around his chest and an answering heat along his back. _Oh_ , he thought, and fell into a soft, dreamless sleep.

He awoke because someone was watching him and because of the familiar fluttering of fingers in his hair. Remus leaned into the weight at his back, truly comfortable for the first time in ages.

“So much gray,” Severus murmured, twisting a lock around his finger. “Did you know, Lupin, that you smile in your sleep? But only when I touch you.” Remus shifted again and the hand in his hair clamped down tightly. “No, don’t turn around. I won’t be able to say this with you looking at me. It’s difficult enough as it is.” The hand loosened and went back to stroking through the strands, almost absent in its tenderness. “Things are different now, Lupin. I don’t mean just because of…because we…”

“Fucked each other’s brains out.”

“Yes, thank you, shut up. Things are – have been – different for me for quite some time now. Albus doesn’t… I can’t tell you what’s going to happen, or when, but it’s going to be soon, do you understand? I’ve… I’ve been thinking about what I’d want if things were different. What I’d want to do…before I die. I know we were drunk and you can’t really feel that way, not after everything we’ve been through, but… I just don’t think I can take losing you on top of everything else. I know I never really had you, but…just for now, just for tonight… let me pretend that I did. Pretend with me.”

Remus turned blindly in Snape’s arms, mouth desperately seeking Severus’. He moaned greedily at the depths he found there, licking away every stray bit of salt that fell down their cheeks.

They lay together for a space outside time, holding and rubbing against one another like lovers reunited after years of war, relearning the shape of their beloved in the dark. The kisses were slow, deep, and powerful; Remus had just leaned in for yet another when he felt a burst of heat on his side.

Severus whimpered and pulled away, cradling his left arm. He stared at it for a moment, gasping heavily, and then bolted from bed. 

“I have to go.”

“Obviously.” Remus wiped a hand over his face and sat up in bed, wishing he were more confused about what was happening. He watched Severus frantically pull on clothes and fastened them tight. “That was my sock,” he pointed out.

Severus stopped dead, long fingers frozen on the cuffs of his outer robe, boots continuing to lace themselves. His face fell, haggard lines cutting deeply into his strong features. 

“You should go, Remus. You shouldn’t be here for this.”

“And where should I go, Severus? Back to the wolves?” Remus tilted his head, marveling at the fragile creature before him. It seemed as though Severus were still naked, no matter how many layers of clothing he put on. It was fascinating: he didn’t think he’d ever seen Severus look so openly miserable before.

And then the familiar scowl settled on Snape’s face like a worn coat, shoulders tilting back and tightening. He grabbed his wand from a pile on the floor and in a flash his clothes were neat, buttons all done. He glared at Remus. 

“Death Eaters will be attacking the castle shortly, Lupin, if they haven’t already. I suggest you gather the troops, meager as they are, to defend the children. I believe Miss Tonks is patrolling the corridors tonight, is she not? It would be a shame for something terrible to happen to one so young.”

And then Severus was out the door, robes swirling behind him. Remus sat for a moment more, breathing in the smells of sex and panic, then set about locating his own clothes. He’d have to do without the sock.

* * *

It wasn’t until much later, as he was running through the corridor towards the Astronomy Tower, it occurred to him neither one of them had used a cleaning charm. He wondered how often werewolf come was used in potions and hoped it was comparable in value to the fur. 

Then a magical barrier rose behind him and Fenrir Greyback rushed past wearing Death Eater robes, grinning madly over his shoulder. “Isn’t this fun, Remus? All the pretty lads you can eat!” He pounced on Bill Weasley, driving the smaller man easily to the ground. Remus’ wand felt useless in his hand, limp and dangling between his fingers. 

Someone on the tower above shouted and Remus was knocked onto his knees by a jolt of black streaming down the stairs. The heavy stench of fresh sex caught in his nose and he turned to see Severus run through the barrier with Draco Malfoy hot on his heels, disappearing into the darkness of the castle. 

A moaning wail rose from out on the grounds, and he thought he heard a phoenix singing. The Death Eaters paused, fired a few more hexes, and followed Severus out.

The war had truly begun.


	5. Chapter 5

That night was killing him. That one terrible, vicious night of honesty with Severus was actually killing him; he could feel it weighing him down, eating away at his bones. They said killing shattered the soul – what had Severus done with the splinters when he murdered Dumbledore? Had he bound them to Remus that night in the dark sheets? Was that why he felt so heavy?

He tried to put it behind him and move on, like he had with Sirius all those years ago. _It didn’t mean anything_ , he told himself, and let Tonks hold his hand during Dumbledore’s funeral. He choked down Molly Weasley’s tea and drank firewhiskey with Kingsley at the wake. There were wanted posters in every window, and Remus made sure to ignore them. 

He didn’t think about the barrier, or how magic so complex took hours of planning and preparation to work properly. He didn’t think about contingency plans for Death Eaters in the castle, or how Albus Dumbledore had never once been completely truthful to him.

He didn’t think about the flutter of eyelashes on his shoulder, or a soft mouth on the nape of his neck. Or a deep voice, breaking in the dark.

Why did these things keep happening to him? Why was he always the betrayed, and never the betrayer? Surely the misdeeds of his youth didn’t call for this amount of karmic backlash; a few white lies couldn’t have skewed the universe towards him that much, could they?

His father. James and Lily. Dumbledore. Sirius, Sirius, _Sirius_. And now this. He wasn’t sure how much more rejection he could take.

“I think you’ve had enough for now, don’t you?” Orange-nailed fingers pulled the glass from his unresisting hands and lifted it to rosy bow lips that parted to swallow down the liquid inside. _The Black mouth._ Remus wondered if Tonks knew how closely she resembled her estranged family when she relaxed into her natural expression.

Tonks _ughed_ and stuck her tongue out at the whiskey burn. Her face shivered in revulsion, literally: an odd squiggle ran across her features and Remus found it difficult to watch as she shifted.

She set the tumbler down on the table and leaned against his shoulder, a stray strand of pink falling from her sloppy bun and settling against Remus’ cheek. He blew it away.

“I don’t know how you drink that stuff; it always makes me maudlin. Plus it tastes like shit. Give me a good fruity Witch’s Brew any day. Suppose I really am a girly drunk, eh?” 

Remus just stared. “I’m not drinking it for the taste, Nymphadora.” 

“Please call me Tonks. Everyone else does.” She looked down at her hands, chipping at the varnish with her thumb. “Sometimes I think you call me that just to irritate me.”

Remus had nothing to say to that, being the truth; he didn’t want to insult her by denying it. Instead he watched an orange flake settle onto his shirt, catching on the frayed weave of a buttonhole.

Her voice was small and young in his ear. “You’re taking this very hard.” 

“Of course I am. Severus –“ _NO. That is not what you’re upset about._ “Dumbledore… was a great man. He gave me everything.”

She leaned in closer, soft chest pushing against his arm. “I can give you everything too, Remus. If you let me. Please let me.”

He didn’t deepen the kiss when it came, but he didn’t pull away from it either. _Why not?_ he thought, hands filling with warm breasts and thumb caressing her nipple into a hard nub. Tonks gasped and clung tightly to his shoulders. 

Why the hell couldn’t he have this? It was only one night, after all. It wasn’t as if there was a reason not to kiss her anymore.

* * *

Remus can remember the last lie he ever told very clearly. It was to his dying wife as he held her in his arms. “I love you,” he said, and didn’t mean a word.

Dora’s body shivered and melted into the one she wore when she slept, hair brown and pudgy round the middle from childbirth. The familiar mouth was slack and open, eyes glazed.

He contemplated the battlefield where she’d fallen, and was surprised at where they’d ended up. The action had moved away from the little hill of his youth – fitting, he supposed, that the final battle would pass over him as everything else had in his time at Hogwarts. He couldn’t stop his mind from drifting off to warmer, brighter days on the grounds nearby. The Marauders used to lounge under that tree in the spring, watching the girls on the lake, and Dolohov lay moaning and broken over the path he’d taken with Pomfrey to the Shrieking Shack so many times.

A flicker of light in the distance caught his eye and he realized that with the damage the giants had made to the forest he could just barely make out the corner of the Shack over the treetops. Someone had walked in front of a window, curved head silhouetted against the curtain. 

_Voldemort._

A sudden surge of anger coursed through him. It wasn’t right that the Dark Lord had claimed the Shack and was using it to hurt the children of Hogwarts. Irrationally, Remus had always felt the place was his, even if it were Dumbledore’s name on the lease. It was built, relocated, and protected from the floorboards to the belfry all for him – the grandest of cages. It was his special place to love or hate or be thankful for. The one place he could always return to, and the one that held all his secrets.

 _His place._ And Voldemort was using it to attack Hogwarts.

Not anymore. Remus lay Dora gently on the grass, making sure her wand was nearby – it wouldn’t do for an Auror to die without it – and gathered the tattered remains of his determination. There was no one still living who knew the grounds better than Remus; he’d find a way into the Shack and end this once and for all, one way or another.

* * *

To Remus’ surprise not only was the Shack was deserted, but Voldemort had renovated sometime during his occupation. It seemed dust and splintered mattresses weren’t enough for the Dark Lord, though they’d always suited Remus just fine. New tables and chairs had been moved in, maps and diagrams of the castle spilling onto the floor. They fluttered in the breeze from Voldemort’s most dramatic renovation: the entire rear wall had been removed to reveal a stunning view of the castle and grounds - the perfect vantage point to orchestrate a battle.

The blood, however, was nothing new. The walls here were steeped in it, the smell of his own fluids so powerful that Remus missed the fresher scents in the air, nearly slipping in the sticky residue of footprints on the wooden floor. Sneakers – high tops – a decidedly un-aristocratic accessory for a Death Eater. Had Voldemort captured a student?

The trail of prints led away from the room where the Willow’s tunnel exited. Moving closer, Remus clutched at the doorway, nearly dropping his wand.

Severus lay in a swirl of robes on the floor, blood pooling around his body like gory wings. There were holes in his neck and he was very, very still. 

Remus stumbled into the room, falling heavily to his knees next to the body, warm blood soaking into his jeans. Severus looked pained and pale, hand cool where Remus gripped it tightly.

The blood on his legs was _warm_. This couldn’t have happened too long ago. Could it be possible…

Remus burst into action, casting _enervate_ after _enervate_ and loosening Severus’ outer robe as best he could. The bite would have been from Voldemort’s pet Nagini; the fact that she hadn’t swallowed Severus meant he’d been left behind to bleed out, an insult of the highest order. Her fangs were long and punctured deep. _Venom first_ , he thought, _vein later_.

Dumbledore had commissioned Severus to issue every Order member a vial of antivenin after Arthur was attacked, keyed specifically to Nagini’s bite. Remus kept his in a small, invisible pocket in his boots, the same place he kept his wand and the letters from Severus when among the wolves. As he tilted the small tube down Severus’ throat he wondered why the Potions Master hadn’t done this immediately after being bitten. The thought of Severus not being prepared for an attack was… unbelievable.

He massaged Severus’ throat to force him to swallow the antivenin, then _accio_ ed the medical kit Dumbledore had stowed in the Shack after the debacle their sixth year. Voldemort had thankfully missed that particular hiding spot, though Remus had to blow a hole in the wall to get at it. It was still fully stocked and preserved, dusty bottles clanking together as the bag flew to his side. Blood-replenishing potions, wound healing salves, charms to restore oxygen to the brain, and a bezoar for good luck. He cast spell after spell, everything he’d learned from years of watching mediwizards tend his own wounds or picked up from his mum before her retirement. 

Remus’ thoughts came quick and hot, slipping away before he could grasp them properly. He felt dizzy and hadn’t blinked in far too long; he wondered, distantly, if this was what having a panic attack felt like. His breath was rasping in his chest so loudly it drowned out the sound of Severus coughing, and Remus nearly choked him forcing another potion down his throat.

He screeched to a halt, hands shaking where they press tightly against Severus’ sluggishly bleeding neck. “That’s it Severus. Breathe. C’mon, just breathe for me. Please breathe.”

Severus gasped, deep and wet, and set to coughing again. His eyes fluttered open, blinking in the dim twilight. They settled on the face hovering above him, sweating and pale.

“R’mus?”

Remus laughed and laughed, tears falling unnoticed down his cheeks. He stole a kiss from that bloody mouth, sloppy and grateful. “Oh, Severus. Oh, thank god. Thank god!”

Severus swallowed, grimacing in pain. “Yer… pedigree… showing Lupin.”

Remus couldn’t stop smiling, though the snot and tears were practically streaming now. He wiped his face on a sleeve and tried to collect himself. They weren’t out of the woods yet.

“Don’t try to talk, you stubborn bastard. That damn thing nearly tore your throat out.” _Think it through, Remus. What else do you need to do?_

The wound had reopened because of the coughing, leaking more potions and blood through to the bandages. Remus stuck his wand right in, shouting the strongest healing charm he knew. 

Severus let out a gurgling scream, body arching off the floor.

“Sorry, Severus, sorry. Pain potions next, I promise, just hold on a moment longer.” It was important to repair the inner damage first or the new skin would just grow over the injury without properly healing the muscle beneath. 

Severus lay, panting, as Remus pulled his wand out with a sucking _pop_. There. He cast a cleansing charm on the gash before it closed to stave off infection, added alla paste to initiate skin growth, then finally, blessedly, administered pain potions to make it all go away.

He caressed Severus’ chin with his free hand and helped him swallow, barely able to breathe himself. Amazement was creeping in, disbelief lurking at the edge of his mind. Severus had _died_ ; he’d been lying dead on the floor of the Shrieking Shack and now he was here, alive, where Remus could touch him. It was all too much.

“Remus… What you doing?” Severus’ voice was faint and raspy, slurring round the edges.

“Healing you. Don’t talk.”

Severus lifted his arm blindly, grabbing weakly at Remus’ shoulder and catching onto his shirt. “Don’t be… a fool, Lupin. Killed… Albus.”

Remus jerked back as if Severus had slapped him, turning to cut and measure bandages. The emergency kit was almost empty. If the healing charms failed and Severus had another relapse…

“We need to get you to a mediwizard, Severus. I really have no idea what I’m doing here.”

“No. No healing.” The fist in his shirt tightened, pulling Remus closer. “Deserve this.” Severus was watching him intently, eyes bloodshot and feverish.

A thought occurred to Remus then, and a cool panic spread through his chest. His body actually tingled with the revelation. He asked the question anyway. “Severus…don’t you _want_ to live?”

Severus’ chin trembled and a tear slid down his dirty cheeks, leaving a line of pale skin in its wake. His voice was the barest hint of a whisper. “Not anymore. Not like this.”

The blood drained from Remus’ body into his feet, leaving him swaying dizzily against Severus’ chest. A howl built in his throat, though the moon was far from full. Memories of _that night_ filled his mind, and for the first time in months Remus let himself actually see them. 

Severus had looked so desperate laying there - sweat drying on his body and clutching madly to Remus’ hair. They’d held each other for hours, keeping the darkness away as long as they could.

Remus used a spare piece of gauze to wipe Severus’ tears away, then gently used it to dab at the drying blood on his chin and neck. He’d known how this would end all along, he realized, and was surprised it had taken him so long to accept it.

“Honestly, Severus,” he said, “I don’t care what you want.” 

Severus’ eyes flew open in shock. Remus smiled at him, softly. “I’m tired of pretending…and I think you are, too. What happened to Dumbledore wasn’t your fault. You wouldn’t have hurt him if you didn’t have to. I believe that. Now, no more talk about wanting to die, understand? Lie still and let the potions do their job.”

Severus’ mouth gaped, a few more tears escaping to wet the gauze. Remus took advantage of the silence and finished cleaning the blood away, then carefully began applying a bandage over Severus’ neck to help protect the new skin growing there. It wasn’t much, but it would do until they could go for real help.

Severus’ fingers pushed away the strands of hair falling into Remus’ face. His hands were wet, and Remus suspected a streak of blood was left behind to congeal under the gray of his bangs. He let Severus touch anyway, his shoulders relaxing for the first time in weeks.

“You love me.” 

A bit of tape ripped in his hand, pulling taut against Severus’ skin. “What?”

“That night, when you came. You said you loved me.” Severus tugged a lock of hair playfully, a small smile curling slowly onto his pale face. “Don’t look so stunned, Remus. I knew better…than to believe you. It was nice to hear…all the same. Thank you for that.” 

Severus’ eyes slipped shut and Remus reached out a trembling hand to his wrist, bony and sticky under the dark cuff. His pulse was steady and growing stronger even as Remus counted the beats. Severus had merely fallen asleep.

He sat on the floor of the Shrieking Shack watching Severus breathe for a long moment, blood drying in his hair and on his face. He tried to think about what needed to be done next, but could only hear his own voice, echoing in his memory.

 _I’ve lied to everyone I’ve ever cared about...except you. Isn’t that amazing?_

Remus gathered his numb legs underneath himself, knocking away empty potion bottles as he stood. He cast a quick _scourgify_ on the floor and Severus’ clothes, followed by a cushioning charm to make Severus more comfortable as he slept. Then he left the way he’d come, placing protective wards in his wake.

* * *

To his surprise, not much time had passed since he’d entered the Shack. He could see what appeared to be students patrolling the next ridge, carrying away bodies and floating the wounded to the infirmary on magical stretchers. They’d get Severus to someone who could help, but Remus hesitated calling out to them. Would they understand what it meant for Severus to be alive after all this, to live through betraying everything he stood for? Would they respect him for protecting them from the worst of the Death Eaters all these months, or would they curse him on sight as their despised Headmaster?

Movement on the path ahead caught his eye and he darted behind a tree, animal-quick and silent. He peered around the trunk and put his wand away, sighing. Not a rogue Death Eater, after all – at least, not one that could hurt him anymore.

Remus had reached the area of the grounds where the battle had overcome them, a small hill that overlooked the lake in the spring. Dolohov had crawled a few feet from where Remus had left him, but Dora still lay peacefully on the grass. The children must not have made it this far yet; surely they would have taken them both away.

He looked at Dora and thought of Teddy, safe at home under Andromeda’s watchful eye. Teddy had that same mouth; really, he resembled the Black’s far more than Remus’ side of the family, no matter how often he changed his hair color. It seemed Remus was doomed to find himself in the same position, watching those familiar lips smile around his name.

What would happen to Teddy? Remus loved the boy, he had his picture in his wallet for Christ’s sake, but… It didn’t feel like the _right_ kind of love. It felt like a lie, as all his time with Dora had been. Like he’d tried to be something he wasn’t.

Dolohov had worked his way closer to Remus’ tree, broken legs trailing in the dirt behind him. Remus met him on the path and casually lifted his foot, resting it easily against the Death Eater’s neck. And pressed down.

He loved Teddy, but was he fit to be a father? He’d never thought so, but the fight with Harry had convinced him he ought to at least try, like his own father had done. With Dora around he was almost certain it would have worked, but now…

He hadn’t been happy with a family. He’d never wanted a child, and had tried to tell Dora he was afraid of spoiling the baby but she’d purposefully misunderstood, saying it was impossible to indulge a child if you didn’t have any money. It was practically impossible to talk to her sometimes. 

He thought he’d give it a try now, when she had no choice but to hear him.

“I’m not a very good Gryffindor,” he told Dora’s corpse, voice tender and lost above Dolohov’s frantic thrashing. “It takes courage to tell the truth, and I’ve done nothing but lie to you. I always thought you’d make a great mum but… I didn’t want this. I never did. If you really loved me you’d have known that.”

He thought about his father, running from his past into the arms of a wonderful woman and having a child. The pressure of lie after lie had been too much for him, and he’d left for parts unknown. Would it truly have been better if he’d stayed, miserable in a life that wasn’t his own? 

Would it make the pain less to leave his son now, when the boy wouldn’t even know what he was missing?

Harry would survive this war, of that Remus was certain. Too much had been sacrificed for the lad not to. He would defeat Voldemort and the world would return to fragile peace. It would be a good time to raise a child, and Harry would make an excellent godfather. Remus had insisted Andromeda was left full custody of Teddy in Dora’s will – she was truly the best of a bad lot, better even than Sirius, who was far too self-centered for his own good. With the world righting itself and the two of them as guardians, Teddy would want for nothing. He’d grow up strong and bold and brave, like a man should.

Harry Potter would survive this night, he vowed, but Remus Lupin would not.

Neither would Dolohov. Remus shifted all his weight onto his heel, the last few breaths gurgling out under his boot. Once the Death Eater stilled, Remus quickly put his plans into action. Work like this had always left him uncomfortable and full transfiguration on a dead body wasn’t exactly easy, though he eventually managed to do a passable job. The scar tissue on the neck had been tricky to pull off, but the only one who’d know any better was Dora and she was dead. In all the commotion he doubted anyone would look too closely, anyway. He was just an old professor, beaten down by the moon and her tides.

It was odd, seeing himself from the outside, crushed and broken in the grass. He looked so peaceful laying there, a small smile at the corner of his mouth. Had he added that or did it belong to Dolohov, some quirk of muscle in his ending spasms?

 _Ah well_ , he thought. _Perhaps one more lie. For the road._

He took a final glance at the remnants of his former life, crumbled around him - Hogwarts afire, Voldemort lurking in the Forbidden Forest, wife dead on the grass – and turned to go. Severus needed him… and if he were honest with himself, he needed Severus.


	6. Chapter 6

Severus had been…less than enthused about surviving the final battle only to find himself on the run with an officially deceased werewolf and had made damn sure Remus was aware of his displeasure. For a long while, it was all Remus could do to simply keep him conscious and breathing, so any amount of vitriol was a pleasant reprieve from the silence. 

He knew Severus needed medical help, but couldn’t take him to St. Mungo’s and a Muggle hospital would ask far too many questions about a man suffering from a snake bite in Northern Scotland. There was only one option left, really: he took Severus to see his mother in her tidy home on the outskirts of London. 

He hadn’t seen her in over two years, but she took one look at Severus’ pale face and the bandages on his neck and ushered them into her parlor. Severus was sequestered in the main bedroom and Remus given firm orders to shower, eat, and sleep, in that order. He’d hovered blankly over Severus until his mother had looked pointedly at his rank clothes and pushed him out the door. He stood there for awhile, listening to the sounds of bottles rattling and his mother scolding Severus for trying to talk.

Remus felt a hysterical giggle burst from his chest. They seemed to be getting along fine, then. Not every meeting with the in-laws went as smoothly.

He walked slowly through his mum’s house, familiar furniture lulling him back into a dizzy sort of calm. There was a framed Wizard photo on the mantle of his family before Fenrir Greyback, the summer they’d gone to the beach. Little Remus was smiling, held tight in his mother’s sunburned arms. His father stood behind them both, pressing a kiss into her bare shoulder. When he looked up at the camera the skin around his eyes crinkled in happiness.

His mother found him hours later in the kitchen, wallet open on the table. Teddy smiled at her and changed his hair from bright green to purple and brown. 

She set a cup of tea next to his elbow and wiped his cheek with a rag, Severus’ blood flaking off onto the table. “Now, RJ,” she said. “Do you want to tell me why there’s a murderer upstairs staining my sheets and complaining about the quality of my healing potions, or am I meant to guess?”

Remus pushed the delicately steaming cup away and buried himself in her arms, just as soft and warm as he remembered them. She held him until the sobs quieted. After, he told her the truth for the first time in his adult life. He told her about Sirius and James, about what he’d done that night in the alley. He told her about his time with the wolves, about the abandoned grandson she’d never met and the secret he’d left behind at Hogwarts. And he told her about Severus, a friend from school and a spy under Voldemort. About how he’d confessed to loving him in a moment of passion and forgetfulness.

She held him tightly, brushing a kiss in his hair. “I never claimed to understand the men in my life, RJ. I’ve only ever claimed to love them. It’s all I can do. It’s my choice.”   
She pulled back to look him in the eye. “If you love someone, and _mean it_ , then you do what you have to. Whatever it takes. Your father never understood that.”

She hugged him close for a long moment, then wandered over to the cabinet under the sink. To his amazement, she pulled out a large bottle of firewhiskey and liberally dosed his cup of tea, reheating it with a tap of her wand. She drained it dry and cuffed the back of his head. “And no more silent treatment. You’d best write to me, Remus John, no matter where you end up. If young Theodore won’t know his father, he’s at least going to be spoiled like mad by his grandmother. And I want her to have plenty of stories about his estranged Uncle Romulus, don’t you?”

* * *

Severus’ color had improved dramatically under Amelia Lupin’s care, if not his disposition. He sat up in bed, looking tremendously out of place and uncomfortable under the floral duvet. 

“I’m leaving the country,” Remus told him, nearly three days after they arrived. The news of Harry Potter’s stunning victory over Lord Voldemort was headlining in all the papers and England was once again a place of celebration. It was a little too familiar for Remus’ liking; he couldn’t help but wonder if another war would start ten years down the line.

Severus looked away, tracing the outline of a daisy. He’d yet to say anything to Remus since his mother took over his treatment. Remus was surprised how much he missed the sarcasm.

“I can’t stay here. Not just because they reported me dead but because there’s too much here. Too much history. Too many lies. I can’t live that way anymore.”

Those long fingers were mesmerizing, plucking gently at the cotton, thumbnail scraping a loose thread. “You could go back, you know. You don’t have to stay here. Harry told everyone you were working under Dumbledore’s orders. You’d be a hero, like you always wanted.”

The fingers stopped their journey along the bedspread and rested still, potion-stained and trembling. Severus’ voice was rough, though from emotion or medication Remus wasn’t sure. “And when have you ever known what I wanted, Lupin?”

Remus closed his eyes. “You wanted me to pretend that I loved you that night.”

“Yes. And you told me you never lied to me.” A long-fingered hand brushed against Remus’ shoulder, cupping the back of his neck and rubbing the stiffness there. Remus moaned, leaning into the touch.

“So,” Severus rasped. “Where are we going?”

* * *

The world was a large place, with plenty of room to hide two damaged wizards, looking for the truth in one another. Remus shared his euro transformation trick with Severus and they traveled to all the places circumstance had kept them from visiting, both Muggle and Wizarding. 

It was a little frightening, having nothing to hold them back any longer aside from the expected letter to Remus’ mum. And the lunar cycle, of course.

The moons came and went, but Remus had been a werewolf long enough to know how to work around them. If supplies were available then Severus brewed the Wolfsbane, if they weren’t he found a suitable place and had Severus patch his wounds the morning after. Remus was surprised to find his time among the werewolves had made Moony more intense - Severus suspected he’d gotten a taste for dominance, and teased Remus about it unmercifully – but otherwise his transformations continued as they had always been, painfully predictable.

While not exactly fugitives, they certainly weren’t free from suspicion. Wizarding settlements all over the world had heard of Severus’ role in Voldemort’s defeat, and his features were distinct enough to make him memorable. They tired quickly of polyjuice potion and glamors, deciding to go about things the old-fashioned way. Severus cut his hair short, died it a mousy blond, and got a suntan for the first time in his life. It was enough to make even the most discerning paparazzi think twice about his identity.

Remus had wanted to experiment in Muggle camouflage as well, but Severus refused to let him do anything to his hair. “It’s not like you were important enough to merit photos in international press, Lupin. You said it yourself: you’re too plain for anyone to recognize you.”

He’d grumbled the whole train ride through Moscow, but relented later that night when Severus’ hands roamed over his scalp, tugging and wrapping his fingers in the soft brown waves. Severus had to place a silencing charm on their room to keep the nosy landlord at bay.

That was the other thing that surprised Remus – how easy it was to be with Severus. They argued constantly but the disagreements turned into an entertaining and public sort of foreplay more often than not. And the sex…

They’d kissed for the first time since the war under a baobab tree in Madagascar, nearly two weeks after they left England. Severus had wanted to collect samples from the magical plant, rambling about untapped potential and incompetent European brewing. They’d levitated themselves to the highest branches, startling a cloud of moths into the air. 

Up to that moment Remus had been hesitant to instigate anything physical, worried about the strain on Severus’ health and their delicate relationship. But the smell of the rare night-blooming flowers had overwhelmed Remus completely, and Severus had looked so beautiful against the white petals, pollen caught in his hair. He’d pushed Severus back against one of the thicker branches and aligned their bodies just so, pressing his knee against Severus’ rising erection. He’d moaned and held on tightly, crushing the delicate blossoms between them. 

They nearly fell out of the tree that night, but Severus had learned to fly sometime during his strange year as Headmaster, and knew how to kept Remus safely anchored.

* * *

They’d been settled in New Zealand for almost a year by the time Harry’s autobiography was released internationally, and Remus was seriously considering living there permanently. There was hardly any language barrier and the people were friendly and welcoming but respected their neighbor’s privacy. A surprisingly large population of wizards had integrated peacefully into the larger cities around the time of Grindlewald, but there was still plenty of open space for two British exports to hide comfortably. 

The landscape itself was breathtaking; there were times Remus suspected they really had died, and mistakenly would up in heaven. He’d taken the book out on the bluffs to read with the sun on his back and wind in his hair, and decided to stay there all day. Cricket kept Remus company, crawling about the rocks and getting his carapace scratched for his trouble. The giant weta had started following Remus around their first night in the cabin, faithful as any dog and twice as attentive. Remus thought the foot-long barbed insect had been charming, but Severus had shuddered and gone after it with his shoe. 

When Cricket hopped inside and began chewing determinedly on the laces, Remus had declared undying love and refused to let Severus squash him. He’d transfigured a collar out of an old toothbrush and gleefully adopted his first actual pet.

It was nice, having something simple to practice caring for. Severus certainly wasn’t simple and denied any caring was necessary, though Remus knew this extended holiday was as much for the health of his heart as for the health of his body. Severus smiled more now, touching Remus at every opportunity – just small brushes of fingers against his back, or the bump of a hip as they walked through town, but touches all the same. 

Severus settled on the rock next to him now, the scent of night-flowers lingering on his robes. He’d been in the workroom again, brewing something he refused to talk about. Remus suspected he’d be asked to test the concoction before the next full moon, though he’d caught Severus sneaking one of Cricket’s skin sheds into the cauldron the other day and didn’t exactly look forward to it.

He leaned over and took the book out of Remus’ hands, glowering at the cover. “ _Just Harry: The True Story of the Man Who Lived_. I told you not to read this garbage.”

“There’s a chapter on the Battle of Hogwarts. He said he saw me with Peverell’s ring. That I was in the forest with James and Sirius.”

“See? Garbage.”

“Please, be serious.”

“I think I’d rather not. Too many breezy curtains in this country.”

Remus glared and Severus sighed, admitting momentary defeat. He brushed the hair away from Remus’ face, thumb lingering over a damp cheekbone. “Potter saw what he needed to see. He thought you were dead, so he saw you with the dead.” 

“Lily was there, too. He said you gave him your memories of her before you died in the Shack. He said you loved her.”

Severus went still at his side, warmth seeping through Remus’ shirt. His fingers wound in the hair at Remus’ nape, exposing the scar to the cutting wind. “Potter saw…what he needed to see, Lupin,” he repeated, tonguing the sensitive skin just below Remus’ hairline. “It doesn’t matter now.”

He dropped the book onto the rock and turned to Remus completely, nuzzling into the secret place where shoulder met neck. Remus’ eyes drifted closed and he leaned into the embrace.

It felt deliciously wonderful laying there in Severus’ arms. Despite everything they’d been through they’d wound up here, caring for each other in peace. And knowing that was all the truth Remus would ever need.


End file.
